Coming Back To Life
by The Fink
Summary: With the Reynosa cartel out for blood, Ziva takes on the challenge of keeping Tony safe...
1. One

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly (which is sort of an interesting concept, seeing as I haven't actually seen the latter yet!).

Coming Back To Life

One

Ziva paced the Bethesda hallways like a caged lioness, unsure of where her anger should be focussed. On the Reynosa Cartel? Without them, none of this could have happened, except that, just as saliently, without them none of this could have happened. If Shannon and Kelly Gibbs hadn't died at the hands of Pedro Hernandez, Gibbs wouldn't have joined NCIS - he'd have had no reason to. If Gibbs hadn't joined NCIS, nor would Tony and, most importantly of all, nor would she. She shuddered at that thought and forced it away. So if not the Reynosa Cartel, who? Vance for sending Tony on a mission with no backup? Mike Franks for interfering in that mission and putting Tony's safety at risk? Or Tony for not telling Vance to go to hell, he had a promise to keep?

Ziva snorted and shook her head. As hurt by Tony's absence at her ceremony as she had been, she knew Tony couldn't have told Vance to go to hell and much as she was frustrated by Vance sending him out solo, she could at least see the logic. After all, surveillance missions worked best when there weren't hordes of agents and operatives swarming the place. So that really just left Mike Franks and she couldn't really blame him, either; he wanted a piece of the Reynosas for what they'd done to him and his family.

Maybe, then, her anger should be aimed at the cartel. After all, they were the ones who'd stirred this all back up now after nearly twenty years. Ziva frowned. Or maybe it was Bell who'd stirred it up in an attempt to get back at Gibbs. In which case she'd never be able to successfully vent her anger because he was already dead.

"Special Agent David?"

The unfamiliar voice made her pause and pivot back to face the speaker. A doctor - to judge by the white coat - though not one she recognised. Clearly not one of the emergency team, and yet he'd pronounced her surname correctly at first try which only a small handful of Americans had ever achieved. That was enough to make her wary. "Yes?"

He offered a small smile. "I'm Dr Brad Pitt - no relation-"

"I know who you are," Ziva interrupted, still wary but with one mystery solved. "Tony has spoken of you."

Pitt nodded. "That saves time, then. Because of Tony's..." the doctor paused before shrugging, "unique medical circumstances, they've called me down to consult."

Ziva swallowed back a sudden surge in fear. "Is he-?"

That got another small smile out of Pitt. "He's going to be fine. On sick leave for a week or so and on desk duty for another week beyond that, but he's going to be fine."

At that news, Ziva felt the tension in her body begin to melt away. "They said that he was shot?"

Pitt nodded. "Through and through to the shoulder. That wasn't the problem. It was the four broken ribs and the partially collapsed lung he hadn't bothered to mention."

Ziva found a laugh bubbling up in her throat, though there was nothing remotely amusing about the situation. It was, however, pure DiNozzo. He'd probably have tried to downplay the gunshot wound, too - if he'd thought he'd get away with it.

"He's been very lucky, though. No serious damage and as long as he follows doctor's advice-"

"There is a first time for everything," Ziva murmured, garnering a bark of laughter from the doctor.

"Oh, he'll follow this," said Pitt with a grin. "He knows what the consequences are if he doesn't."

"Death By Gibbs?"

"Extended stay in this place," Pitt answered. "With the added bonus of a lecture from Ducky and whatever Gibbs needs to add when Ducky's finished." He paused. "Then there's Abby."

At that Ziva actually found herself giggling, though it still wasn't funny. "I see."

"I'm actually a little surprised she isn't here already," Pitt added.

"It is...complicated," Ziva answered.

Pitt nodded. "Considering where Tony was med-evac'd from, I'd think complicated was the least it was." He waved a hand in the direction of Tony's room. "You can go in and see him now - though he is pretty doped up."

That made Ziva grimace. A doped up Tony was always an interesting proposition. "He does not have access to a telephone?"

That earned another laugh as Pitt started to head away. "No. I know Tony's reaction to anything stronger than a Tylenol - just make sure he doesn't abuse the call button."

Ziva slowly shook her head and reminded herself that she really ought to be grateful that Tony was whole enough to need babysitting. Even if he was a bigger pain in the rear when drugged to the eyeballs than he was when sober.

"I'll stop by later," Pitt called over his shoulder.

"Thank you, Doctor-" But Pitt was already out of sight. Ziva sighed and headed into Tony's room.

Her first impression was that her partner was a mess. In addition to the injuries she knew about, his face was marked with livid bruises and one eye was almost completely swollen shut while two of his fingers were splinted and, from the way his left leg was propped up, he'd probably also re-injured the knee he'd blown in college.

"Should see the other guy."

Ziva realised that while she'd been cataloguing his injuries, Tony's good eye had opened and he was now squinting at her. "I have," she answered. "He is on a slab in autopsy."

"And I'm on a slab in hospital."

Ziva rolled her eyes and decided to put the melodramatics down to the pain medication.

"Y'can start yelling any time you want," he added, good eye sliding shut. "Reckon I deserve it."

"Yelling?" Ziva enquired, folding herself gracefully onto a convenient seat. "Why should I be yelling?"

"I screwed up."

"When?"

"Made you a promise. Didn't keep it."

"Could not keep it," Ziva corrected, shaking her head. "After the ceremony, Vance explained where you were. What you were doing."

"And that made it hurt so much less?" The sarcasm was surprisingly fierce, considering the drugs.

Quietly, she said, "It told me that you had a good reason for not being there."

"Still let you down like-"

"You are nothing like him," Ziva cut in. "You did not forget; you did not choose to be absent; you did not arrange for an important meeting to take place just so that you could not attend. I know that if you had not been given those orders, you would have been there."

"Do you?" The good eye popped open again. "Even after all the crap I've said? What I've done?"

Ziva sighed. "Tony, you are my partner. You can be childish and insensitive, but where it really counts, I know that you will have my back."

"Wanted to be there." The voice was soft now, suggesting that the drugs were beginning to drag him down into a pain-free sleep.

"I know you did."

His eye was closed again and after several long moments of silence, Ziva judged he was actually asleep. Consequently, she was startled when he suddenly murmured, "Wanted to get back to being in the same book."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

But this time he was asleep - which was, Ziva reflected, absolutely typical of him. She sighed. She ought to be used to his drug-addled ramblings. She'd certainly spent enough time around him to know that he usually didn't make a lot of sense while on morphine or whatever it was the doctors had pumped him full of, but even by Tony-on-painkiller standards, the book remark made no sense. And yet, since it seemed connected to his absence from her ceremony, it seemed important.

"American idioms drive me up the hall," she muttered softly, deliberately making the mistake, just to check he truly was asleep.

Tony didn't so much as twitch.

Ziva sighed again and settled back against her chair. It wasn't as if she wasn't going to have time to consider the question, she supposed. Until Gibbs called to confirm that all the Reynosa operatives in the area had been picked up, she wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	2. Two

Wow; thank you all for your response - I'm once more blown away by how much you've enjoyed what I've posted so far, and I do hope that I can continue to entertain you! I will be replying to reviews when I can, but until I can sit down and do that, here's a very general: THANK YOU! to those of you who've reviewed. And a quick answer to the Anonymouse who asked about whether or not Tony mangled an idiom: short answer, yes he did. Longer answer is that there's a good reason for it - but that won't come out for a little while yet.

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly (which I have now seen).

Coming Back To Life

Two

It was an all-over-ache with specific pain centres in his shoulder, chest, hand and knee that drove Tony back to consciousness. Whatever drugs the doctors had given him had clearly worn off, which sucked. What sucked more, though, was the hazy recollections of what had happened before the drugs had finally knocked him out. He could remember Brad making disapproving comments about the state of his ribs, but everything after that was blurry and-

Oh God.

Ziva.

Had she really been here or was that just the product of a drug-fuelled hallucination?

"Stop pretending to be asleep," said a voice softly. "I heard you wake up."

Nope; not a hallucination. Squeezing his eyes open - and grateful to note that the swelling around his right eye was going down - Tony found Ziva was sitting, curled up, on a chair beside his bed. In her lap was a discarded magazine. "You're here."

"I am," she agreed.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you are."

Tony closed his eyes again. He really didn't feel capable of of holding his own in this conversation. "Let me rephrase that question: why do I have an armed guard?"

"Because you killed a leading member of the Reynosa Cartel and we are still brushing up their operation here."

"Sweeping up."

"Same difference."

It wasn't, but that was another thing Tony didn't feel capable of explaining right there and then. "They given you any clue about how long I'm here?"

"At least another twenty-four hours," Ziva answered. "You look a mess."

"Good."

"Good?"

"That means I look better than I feel."

Ziva snorted. "The nurse will be around shortly with more painkillers."

"And that's a good thing?"

"You are in pain, so yes."

That got Tony's eyes open again. "You actually want me loopy?"

Ziva grimaced. "I do not want you in pain."

"Isn't that more than I deserve right now?"

She sighed. "We have already had this conversation."

"We have?" Tony cringed. Just what the hell had he said? It couldn't have been anything too sappy, because he was still breathing. It couldn't have been anything too incriminating either, because she wasn't looking at him like he'd got an extra head. On the other hand- "What did I say?"

That earned him a brief smile. "Just that you were sorry and that you had wanted to be there."

"That was it?"

"You are afraid you said something else?" Ziva enquired, a lift of her eyebrows underscoring the question.

"I- No. Why would I be?"

She snorted, just as the door opened to admit a nurse. "Because you hate not being in control of what you say."

Before Tony could find a suitable deflection for that remark, he found himself embroiled in a conversation with the nurse who wanted to know how he was feeling, if he was in pain, if there was anything he needed. The worst part was that every time he tried to down play anything, Ziva overrode him.

The nurse found it amusing.

Tony wished Vance had seen fit to send someone who knew him a little less well to act as a bodyguard.

"I lay my case," said Ziva as the nurse departed again.

Tony groaned. "Rest. It's rest my case." He let his eyes slide shut again. "Need to do more court duty."

"Now I am a full citizen, I am sure I will have to," she replied. "Why would you rest a case?"

"Ask me sometime when I don't feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"I will hold you to that."

For a few moments, there was silence in the room, then Tony finally asked the obvious question: "If that's what I said, what did you say?"

"That I understood."

It was a reply that gave absolutely nothing away. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ziva sighed. "Perhaps we should wait and have this conversation when you are not in pain."

Alarm bells started to ring in the back of Tony's mind and he forced his eyes open again. "Ziva, what dumbass thing did I say?"

She shook her head. "It is not that. And you really did not say anything too unfortunate or cryptic. I just do not wish to sweep over this subject again and again because you are not able to remember conversations."

"It's rake over," he corrected automatically. Then the full import of what she'd said hit him and he winced. "Sorry."

She shook her head again. "It is not your fault. Just- Perhaps we should chair-no, table this conversation for when they release you from here." She paused. "I got that one right, yes?"

"Yeah."

At that moment, the nurse returned with his next dose of painkillers and, with little choice, Tony gave in and took them.

"Sleep," Ziva advised as the world began to turn fuzzy again. "I will still be here when you wake."

"Because Vance ordered you or because you want to?"

It was only when Ziva's smile turned enigmatic that he realised the words had actually slipped out. "Yes," was all she said.

"Y'know, you look like the Mona Lisa when you do that," he mumbled.

That earned him another smile, which puzzled him. But, with everything starting to blur nicely, he couldn't quite summon up the focus to wonder why his comment should have achieved that response.

"Go to sleep," she said softly.

His eyes slid shut. "I'mma get right on that."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	3. Three

Wow; thank you all for your response - I'm once more blown away by how much you've enjoyed what I've posted so far, and I do hope that I can continue to entertain you!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Three

Ziva idly flicked through the pages of a National Geographic magazine that one of the nursing staff had found for her to read. While the articles were normally the kind of thing that would interest her, it wasn't successfully holding her attention. That kept sliding to her partner, who was still sound asleep under the influence of painkillers. The conversation they'd had the last time he'd been awake was bothering her much more than she'd expected. He really thought she was only here because Vance had ordered her here?

She sighed. Perhaps their friendship was more screwed up than she'd previously considered.

Ziva grimaced. How had they got here?

The answer, though, was painfully obvious. First there'd been La Grenouille. Then Jenny. Then Michael Rivkin and Somalia.

A lot of ghosts to deal with. A lot of misunderstandings to correct.

If there was one good thing about the current situation, it would at least afford them a chance to try and work on things. Try to get back what they'd lost. Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. If they could.

It was at this point in her thoughts that a new sound caught Ziva's attention. Footsteps, approaching. Not an unusual sound, even at this time of night, but they raised her hackles all the same. Too slow and hesitant to belong to any of the staff, they could have belonged to a visitor, except that visiting hours were long over. Whoever it was seemed to be looking for a destination. With Paloma Reynosa out for vengeance, that could very well mean trouble. Her hand went straight to the butt of her gun and she waited.

The footsteps stopped just short of the door. Ziva started to silently inch her sig out of its holster, only to stop when she heard a familiar cough. Franks. Not necessarily the most welcome of visitors, but not one who was actively trying to kill her partner. She sighed and secured her weapon again as the grizzled former agent finally stepped into the room.

"How's he doin'?"

Ziva gave him a level glare. "You are not supposed to be here," she answered.

Franks just lifted an eyebrow. "Never stopped me before. He okay?"

"He has been better," Ziva replied. "But the doctors are satisfied with his progress."

Franks grunted. "First time I met him, had no idea why Gibbs kept him around."

"Was this before or after you rendered him unconscious?" Ziva couldn't help but ask.

"Seemed like he was all shiny shoes and bullshit," Franks continued, ignoring the question. "Boy's got a mean right cross on him, though."

And now Ziva understood how Tony had damaged his hand. "He hit you?"

"Socked me good enough to see stars. Kept me out of the ambush."

"He knew it was an ambush?"

"And he walked into it anyway." Franks shook his head. "Boy's either insane or has a death wish."

"Neither."

"Then explain walking into an ambush, getting shot and captured and beaten up by the Reynosas and pissin' off pretty lil Paloma into the bargain."

"Buying time," said Ziva. "Baiting a trap. Looking out for family." Her mind flashed back nine months. "It is not the craziest thing he has ever done for family."

Franks grunted again. "Heard all about that."

"Then you know he is more than shiny shoes and bullshit."

"I never asked him to take a bullet for me." Franks sounded almost petulant.

"You never needed to. You are important to Gibbs. It is that simple."

"Boy's an idiot," Franks muttered.

"He is that, too." Ziva smirked. "But he is an idiot you want on your side."

Franks conceded that point and for a moment or two, there was silence in the room.

"Why are you here?" Ziva finally asked.

"Been a change of plan."

Ziva lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Paloma knows he's in DC."

"That was always a possibility."

"Not sure if she knows exactly where yet, but we're not takin' any chances," said Franks. "Been talkin' with his doc and got things changed, so officially, there is no Anthony DiNozzo here, just a Jean-Paul Renier."

Ziva smirked at the name.

"Doc's also gonna push the schedule a bit, try and get him outta here sooner. Just in case Paloma does figure it out and takes it into her head to try something. Lotta soft targets in a hospital." Franks' mouth twisted into a grimace at the thought. "Might be as soon as lunchtime."

"You know where we are going?"

"Safe house," said Franks succinctly. "Not sure of the details yet, though. Not sure who'll be by to spring you, either. Won't be me; Gibbs has got me keepin' an eye on his dad."

Ziva thought about Jackson Gibbs and how he was likely to take having a minder, much less one like Mike Franks. For a moment, she wished she would be present to see his expression; then she decided that she was likely to be far safer well away from the blast radius.

"Gibbs is workin' on a plan," Franks continued. "Might only be a few days more of this."

"Good," said Ziva. "I know that Abby will be glad to have things go back to normal."

Franks eyed her. "And you?"

Ziva's eyes slid towards her still sleeping partner. "I am here by choice."

"Choice, huh? That what they call it these days?" Franks sounded amused.

Ziva's gaze snapped back to the retired agent in time to see him smirking at her. "I do not know what you mean."

"Ri-ight," Franks drawled. He smirked again. "Well, guess I'd better get goin'. Be seein' you." He assayed a mock salute and headed out of the room.

Ziva listened until his footsteps had receded into the distance. Then sighed. "That man never brings good news," she muttered.

The only answer was a soft snore from the bed. Ziva shook her head and picked up her magazine. Franks was at least part right: she was definitely looking forward to getting out of here.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	4. Four

Wow; thank you all for your response - I really am blown away by how much you've enjoyed what I've posted so far, and I do hope that I can continue to entertain you!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Four

This time, it was the clatter of breakfast trays that pulled Tony back to consciousness. The specific pain centres seemed to have died down a little since his last period of wakefulness and he felt significantly less like he'd come off second best from an argument with a semi-trailer. That was something he took to be a good sign, though he knew enough about doctors, in general, and Brad, specifically, to know he wasn't going to be getting out of the hospital any time remotely soon. He grimaced. He hated hospitals.

Opening his eyes, the first thing his gaze fell on was the breakfast tray that had been set on the nightstand. Just beyond that was an amused Ziva, who didn't look remotely as if she'd just spent the night sleeping (or not - knowing her) in a hospital chair. He blinked.

"That yours?" he asked.

"I have had mine," Ziva answered. "That is yours."

Tony blinked again. "Mine?"

"Yours," she repeated.

"They're giving me food?"

Ziva snorted. "You cannot call a bowl full of green slime food."

"I-" Tony blinked. "This isn't normal."

Ziva tipped her head on one side. "What do you mean?"

Tony settled back against the pillows and resisted the temptation to try rubbing his face with his hand. "Brad hasn't been by and checked me over while I was passed out, has he?"

"No."

"Then why am I getting breakfast now?"

"Because it is breakfast time. And I repeat," Ziva added, "that a bowl of green slime cannot possibly be considered food. Even by your standards."

"It's jello," said Tony. "Get sick enough, it's what they feed you." He eyed the tray for a moment. "How's this even supposed to work? Pretty sure Brad won't want me sitting up and I can't imagine you're gonna want to feed it to me."

The expression on Ziva's face at that remark was indescribable, but she was spared from having to reply by the arrival of no lesser person than Brad himself. For a moment, Tony thought his arrival would herald a return to normal, but then Brad said, "Mrs Renier, would you mind waiting outside while I give your husband a check up?"

Tony opened his mouth to object.

Ziva got in first. "Of course, doctor."

And before Tony could say a word, she'd gone, pulling the door closed behind her.

"She is not my wife!" Tony finally spluttered, drawing a grin from the doctor. "I don't know what the hell she's been telling you, but-"

"Relax," said Brad, still grinning. "I know who she is. Things've gotten a little more complicated while you were asleep."

Tony stared at the doctor. "No shit," he muttered with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Brad just chuckled and began the exam by gently probing the swelling around Tony's injured knee. "How'd you do this?" he enquired.

"Fell awkwardly."

"Well the scan we took when you got here showed up no ligament damage, so it's just a bad sprain. You'll have to keep off it as much as possible - but you probably already know that."

"Knee surgery is kinda unforgettable," Tony agreed, earning a wince from the doctor. "Shouldn't be a problem, though. Not like you're gonna be letting me out of this place before the swelling goes down. Right?"

"She didn't tell you, huh?"

Tony blinked. "Huh? Who tell me what now?"

"Your, uh, your not-wife," said Brad, moving around the bed to check on the bullet wound.

Tony attempted to pin Brad with a glare. "What?"

"This is healing nicely," said Brad, gently peeling back the dressing. "You know, you were extremely lucky with where the bullet hit you. No bone damage, virtually no vascular damage, little muscle damage-"

"I'm a ballistics miracle," Tony completed. "What is she supposed to have told me?"

"You'll have to wear a sling for a couple of weeks, so that your arm doesn't pull on the wound, and you'll probably need some physio, once the stitches come out, but all in all, your recovery should be straight forward. No complications."

"Brad, what the hell is going on?" Tony demanded.

"Guess she hadn't had a chance, then." Brad finished refitting the dressing. "The duty nurse will be by in a little while to change that and then fit you with your sling. As for what's going on, I had a very interesting conversation last night with your director."

"Vance?" But at the mention of the NCIS director a new thought forced its way into Tony's mind, above and beyond his concerns for the fact that clearly everyone had taken leave of their senses. Just how much shit was he going to be in with Vance over what had happened?

"Mm. I knew you had to have been doing something fairly, well, classified," Brad continued. "Med-evac from Mexico told me that much. He explained about an operation against one of the bigger drugs cartels from that region and the need to hide where you were in case of reprisals."

Tony blinked. "Vance said that?"

"Almost word for word." Adjusting Tony's hospital-issue gown, Brad applied his stethoscope to Tony's chest. "Breathe in."

Knowing it was futile to object at this point, and knowing well the general drill, Tony obliged.

Brad listened to a couple of breaths in and out, then nodded. "Sounds better."

"It's fine."

"Your record for being fine when you say you are isn't stellar," Brad retorted, giving him a particularly old fashioned look. "In fact, I'm surprised you haven't tried to stage a break out yet."

"You've met Ziva. Would you argue with her? Besides, you've had me drugged out of my skull the last-" Tony frowned. "I'm not actually sure how long I've been here, come to think of it."

"Thirty-six hours," Brad supplied. "And that didn't stop you when you the last time you were in with pneumonia."

Not especially anxious to hear yet another diatribe on just how crappy a patient he was, Tony grimaced. "What did Vance ask you to do?"

"In the first place? Change the name you were admitted under-"

"To Jean-Paul Renier?"

"Ye-eah - I thought she hadn't told you."

"In joke," Tony answered. "Okay, that makes sense. What else?"

"And in the second place, if I at all could, see if you could be released today."

"Presumably you told him that wasn't gonna happen."

"Actually, I said that it was a good possibility, providing someone was going to be with you and assuming that either I or Ducky would be able to keep an eye on you."

Tony stared for a moment, then he smiled as an explanation finally hit him. "I get it. This is all some really extended hallucination or a really, really terrible joke."

"No joke and if you're hallucinating me, you need to work more on your fantasy life."

"My fantasy life is just fine, thank you," Tony retorted. "But since when do you ever let me out of this place that easy? Especially when you've had me drugged for thirty-six hours?"

"Tony, anyone else - without your history - would be looking at leaving today or tomorrow," said Brad patiently. "Your medical history complicates things and your complete inability to follow medical orders makes that even worse. That's why you end up staying longer. So we can make sure you're actually healed up, or too far into the process that you could sabotage yourself."

Tony cringed. "I do not sabotage myself."

"Explain going back to work a full week early after the plague and landing yourself back in hospital with a second round of pneumonia within three weeks."

Tony opened his mouth to try and find an answer, only to realise that he really didn't have one. Granted, there had been some seriously extenuating circumstances involved in that, but from a basic medical stand point they didn't really carry much weight.

Brad took his silence to be a tacit admission. "Director Vance assured me that you wouldn't be on your own - that Special Agent David would be staying with you - and that Ducky would be able to make house calls as necessary. So," he finished, "assuming you don't have any bad reactions to being sat up, having your ribs fully strapped up and eating something - and I see the candy stripers have already been by with the jello - you'll be discharged in the early part of this afternoon."

Tony blinked. "Why?"

Tucking his stethoscope back into the pocket of his white coat, Brad grimaced. "Because a hospital makes for a lot of collateral damage."

Tony wished he was in a position to smack the back of his head. "She's coming here anyway?"

"They don't know, but we'd all prefer not to take the risk."

That was an unarguable point. It was also something that Tony was fairly sure he would have eventually considered, given time away from heavy duty narcotics and a chance to think things through. After all, he knew full well that Paloma had sworn to take vengeance - and that had been before he'd shot her brother.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and a moment after that, a nurse poked her head around the door. "Doctor? Everything ready?"

"Right on time, Joanne - this is Jean-Paul Renier," Brad answered. "We're going to get you strapped up and sitting up, Mr Renier - if that's all right with you?"

For a wild moment, Tony wondered what would happen if he answered that question with a negative. "Sure." He sighed. "Gets it over with, right?"

* * *

To Be Continued...


	5. Five

Wow; thank you all for your response - I really am blown away by how much you've enjoyed what I've posted so far, and I do hope that I can continue to entertain you! Just to clarify something for one of the Anonymice reviewers: I'm currently only able to post once a week, so look for new chapters around about this time on a Friday. If I can push the posting to more than once a week, I will - but until then, once a week it is. Thank you for your patience!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly. There's also a little slip of information that comes in from Dead Air (again, spectacularly impressive, seeing as I don't see that episode until tonight!)

Coming Back To Life

Five

If Ziva had been expecting Tony to more or less revert to normal once he was off the large doses of painkillers, she would have been sorely mistaken. When she was finally permitted to return to his room, by an all too amused Dr Pitt, she had found him sitting up, supported by a combination of pillows and the raised bed. His shoulder had been strapped into an immobilising sling and from the way he'd been visibly trying not to breathe too hard, she could well imagine the tight bindings around his ribs, even if they weren't quite so visible. What struck her most, however, had been the expression on his face.

He had looked lost.

And while they had chatted off and on throughout the course of the morning, that lost look didn't really shift. There was very obviously something bothering him, but it wasn't until lunch time, when the candy stripers brought in two trays of food that she realised what it might be.

"They will be fine," she said, as the two girls departed.

"Will they?" He looked down at the lunch tray and wrinkled his nose as if he were trying to identify the nameless slop in the bowl he'd been given. "Or did I just make another moronic mistake and needlessly make this mess worse?"

Ziva slowly unwrapped the sandwiches she'd been given. She wondered what else he was classing as a 'moronic mistake' and half suspected that the familiar subjects of Rene Benoit and Jenny Sheppard probably featured in there somewhere. Perhaps Michael Rivkin, too. "I do not know that I can answer that question," she finally said softly.

Tony jabbed awkwardly at the slop with a spoon. "It was supposed to be just a surveillance mission. Observe and report only."

"But Franks intervened."

"He insisted he would 'take it from here'." Tony jabbed the bowl's contents again. "Called me Probie."

A giggle bubbled up Ziva's throat at the pure disgust she could hear in her partner's voice at that revelation. She swallowed it back as best she could, sensing that this was not a time for teasing, not even of the most gentle variety.

"Worst part is I almost let him walk away, too."

"What made you change your mind?"

He finally dropped the spoon back onto the tray, clearly giving up on whatever it was he'd been served. "I saw a flash off the top of a building on our nine o'clock. Figure it was a rifle scope or maybe a watch face. Realised that it was just about the perfect ambush spot. Couldn't let Franks walk into it. Told him I was no goddamn probie and maybe he should just stay retired, then I decked him."

Strangely - or perhaps not - Franks had omitted that chunk of the story. "So you walked into the ambush instead?"

"Don't know how I'm not supposed to 'have a reaction' to eating this."

The non sequitur suggested to Ziva that he didn't want to continue that line of conversation. So instead, she asked, "What do you suppose it was intended to be?"

Tony's good shoulder hitched in a shrug. "Brown jello? I don't know. Either way, I'm not risking eating it." He grimaced. "I've tried puking with busted ribs before. It sucks."

"Maybe this'll help," said a fresh voice from the doorway.

Ziva was amused by Tony's startled yelp. So too was McGee, who was holding a couple of cups of soup from what looked like the team's favourite deli.

"Been taking stealth lessons, McSneak?"

McGee just smirked.

"What are you doing here?" Ziva enquired. "Not that I am not pleased to see you, but I thought you were in Canada."

"I was, and now I'm not," said McGee. "As for why I'm here, I'm your ticket out of here and Brad asked me to bring something that Tony might be able to actually eat, as well as the usual change of clothes." So saying, he stepped further into the room and put one of the cups of soup down on Tony's meal tray. "What the hell is that, anyway?"

"I don't know. Sorta think maybe Abby ought to be analysing it," said Tony, carefully squeezing off the soup cup's lid. "Thanks, Probie."

McGee nodded and took up a seat on one of the other chairs in the room, setting the bag he'd also been carrying down at his feet. "I think that might even be worse than even Brad was expecting." He sipped his own soup. "So when are you actually getting sprung? Bet you're glad to be going already."

Ziva watched as Tony's good shoulder hitched in a half shrug. "Whenever Brad says so, I guess. And, I guess, not so much."

McGee choked on his soup. "Wait, what?"

And here, Ziva suspected, was another reason for his pre-occupation.

"When have I ever gotten out of hospital, without signing AMA, in under four days?"

McGee opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, presumably as the answer of 'never' crossed his mind.

"You are scared," said Ziva.

It was when the answer, "Maybe a little," came back that she realised precisely how bothered by this rapid release Tony was. Not for the first time since this mess began, Ziva wished for just five minutes alone with Paloma Reynosa.

"Brad wouldn't be doing it if he wasn't sure you'd be fine," McGee pointed out.

"Why were you in Canada?"

Another non sequitur, another subject to avoid. Ziva grimaced, particularly as McGee's eyebrows attempted to mate with his hairline. For a moment, she wasn't sure he'd let the topic slide. Then he said, simply, "Following a lead. You know, I don't think it's fair: you get Mexico, I get Manitoba."

That earned a sour sort of smile. "Probie, you really wanna go there?"

"Not that I wanted to get shot," McGee added hastily, "but a little more sun might have been nice. Miami, say?"

"You do not speak Spanish," said Ziva, hoping that McGee would now take the hint. "When we leave here, where are we going?" And now she was playing the game, too.

After another wide-eyed stare, McGee said, "Uh, that's still up for discussion. Reynosa lieutenants have been seen outside most of the places we'd considered-"

"Sounds like she's got a bug in NCIS," Tony suggested, staring now at his cup of soup and still making no effort to actually eat.

"That's what we figured," McGee agreed.

"So what is the plan, then? Do we not have a safe house that she does not know about?"

"Vance is trying to find one."

Ziva grimaced. "In that case, I suggest 850 Adams Street North West."

McGee frowned. "What safe house is that?"

"It is my apartment," said Ziva. "That would constitute a safe house, yes?"

Tony snorted. "I think your apartment would be the dictionary definition of safe house."

"You really wanna do that?" McGee asked.

"Why would I not?"

"If Paloma figures it out- You did hear about Jackson's shop, right?"

"I did," said Ziva calmly. "She will not risk that here. She is not stupid." Then she realised that Tony was now staring at her, an expression of ill-disguised horror on his face. "Jackson Gibbs is fine," she added hastily. "Only material damage to his shop. Nothing more."

"It's my fault."

McGee's expression once more turned deer-in-headlightsy and he suddenly murmured something about needing to speak to Vance before departing, rapidly.

Ziva sighed. "It is not your fault, Tony. Gibbs told us, and now I am telling you, that Paloma threatened Jackson in an attempt to gain his cooperation. It went over like a lead-" she hesitated a beat, then deliberately finished, "-airship."

"Zeppelin - or balloon. Either works."

"And is an airship not a balloon?"

That earned a faint smile. "Nice try, Zi, but I know you know that one." The smile turned to a frown. "Wait, you faked that one- How many more do you fake?"

Ziva smirked. "A lady never reveals her secrets," she answered primly.

There was a moment of silence, then Tony asked, "So what else have I missed?"

"Nothing of real consequence. Gibbs and Fornell fetched Jackson from Stillwater a day before Franks contacted Vance for your med-evac; Abby has a protection detail - which means that until Paloma is captured, she will not be able to visit-"

"She's the reason Alejandro's dead," said Tony quietly.

Ziva slowly sat back in her seat, both surprised and not at the revelation. "I had thought he died during your escape."

"I may have made sure he did."

"Why- He threatened Abby," Ziva realised.

"He wasn't just gonna kill her. Couldn't let him stay loose."

"Then whatever the outcome, it was not a moronic mistake," said Ziva firmly. "It was a necessary action."

The look in Tony's eyes suggested he wasn't convinced, but at that moment, McGee returned, so Ziva let that topic rest.

"Vance says that's a go," McGee announced. "So, whenever you're ready."

"That," said Ziva, "will be up to Dr Pitt and he is not due for another forty minutes." She just hoped those forty minutes wouldn't prove to be as long and as awkward as she feared.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	6. Six

Wow; thank you all for your response - I really am blown away by how much you've enjoyed what I've posted so far, and I do hope that I can continue to entertain you!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Six

Juggling crutches was never a favourite pass-time of Tony's. Juggling them with one arm out of commission, thanks to a bullet wound to the shoulder, was even less so. He found that it was almost impossible not to put at least some weight on his abused knee as he hobbled up the handful of steps to Ziva's apartment, which inevitably sent spikes of pain through a joint that had already undergone reconstructive surgery once before, but there wasn't an alternative.

Tony suspected that under other circumstances, Brad would have delayed his departure from hospital another twelve hours or so, but apparently things had moved on even further. The Reynosa Cartel, or some of its affiliates, had taken some indiscriminate pot-shots at Fornell's house, which suggested that their violence was escalating. It had become even more important to make sure he was well away from Bethesda before Paloma worked it out, so Brad had signed him out and had given Ziva a laundry list of don'ts, as well as a sack of painkillers that would render an elephant comatose. And part of him - the part that was worried for the safety of a hospital full of innocents - was relieved to be out. The rest of him was still bewildered by the speed of the release and by the way that so little around him seemed to be making sense.

Ziva seemed to have turned herself into his own private cheer squad, which would have been weird under any circumstances. Coming now, at a time when, by rights, she ought to have been pissed at him and he was almost tempted to look for a little red x on the back of her neck. Then there was McGee, who had spent the forty minutes leading up to Brad's return alternating between giving both of them knowing smirks and rolling his eyes. It had made for a deeply uncomfortable wait and it wasn't boding terribly well for what was going to happen, now that he was out of hospital, given that he was still in Ziva's custody.

Tony shuddered, then winced as fresh pain stabbed through his knee.

"Are you all right?" Ziva enquired from the doorway of her apartment.

"Having flashbacks to my senior year of college," Tony shot back as he finally reached the top of the steps.

"That is when you had knee surgery, yes?"

"Uh-huh." Tony paused, leaning heavily on the crutches. "At least I don't have nearly a hundred pounds of books to carry as well."

"You could have let McGee help you."

"He needed to get back to the Navy Yard and he couldn't have helped me anyway." Tony started the slow hobble across the landing to Ziva's doorway. "Steps are too narrow."

From the expression on Ziva's face, she wasn't entirely buying that answer, but all she said was, "I will go and get you an ice pack."

"Thanks."

Two more steps and he was inside her apartment. Five more steps and he was able to slowly lower himself down onto an extremely comfortable looking couch. Ziva produced the promised ice pack and helped him to prop his leg up on a well padded ottoman footstool and then stepped back.

"Comfortable?"

"As much as I can be. Thanks."

She nodded. "I am about to make tea - would you like some or would you prefer coffee?"

Tony considered the question for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm good, thanks."

Ziva eyed him dubiously before nodding again and vanishing in the direction, presumably, of her kitchen.

Left alone, Tony took the opportunity to look around at the apartment. It was, he realised, the first time he'd been to any apartment of Ziva's since the night Michael Rivkin died and the thing that struck him most about this apartment was how much less sterile it was by comparison to the one that Mossad had torched. Granted, the furnishings were minimal - she was clearly still working on finding replacements for some of the items she'd lost - but what there was spoke a great deal about how far Ziva had changed. She had yet to buy any decor or artwork and there was only the couch and the ottoman for seating - though she had clearly gone all out for comfort when it came to the couch; it was almost big enough that even he could have easily slept on it - but the bookshelves were stuffed full of books, there was a TV positioned just right for viewing and one of the newest DVD players was installed below it. A haphazard stack of DVDs, some of which Tony recognised as films he'd recommended to her over the years, was piled up beside the TV while the coffee table was strewn with a combination of magazines and the textbooks she'd been using to study for her citizenship tests.

Then there were the photographs, framed and displayed in strategic locations. Whichever way Tony looked, he realised he could see a member of the NCIS team smiling at him. As far as he could recall, the only picture of that sort he'd ever seen her with before was a photo that showed her together with a young Ari and an even younger Tali - and that had always struck him as out of place; a picture that a parent might keep, but not a daughter.

"Does it pass mustard?" Ziva enquired.

Tony craned his neck and saw her now leaning against the doorjam of her kitchen. "Not falling for it, David; I know you know that one."

Ziva smirked. "Does it?"

"It's nice. Cosy." He turned back to facing the TV. "I was admiring the photos, actually."

"They were Abby's idea. To remind me that you are all available, just a phone call away."

That fit, somehow. It also helped to explain why, perhaps, some were more prominent than others. A picture of Abby herself was the most obvious, but images of Ducky and Gibbs were also extremely visible. A team shot, too, was well positioned, with McGee and Palmer bookending one of the shelves just above the TV. There was even a picture of Vance, just peeking out from behind a small potted fern. In fact there was only one person notably absent. Which, Tony supposed, was perhaps what he should have expected. It didn't prevent that discovery from hurting all the same.

"Dr Pitt suggested you should take a nap, once you were settled," Ziva continued, abruptly switching topics. "You should lie down in the bedroom."

"Here's fine." Tony had to admit that the idea of a nap was a good one, but he wasn't convinced about the merits of moving.

"I will not be accepting arguments." Ziva moved around into his line of vision and crouched beside the couch. "If you sleep on the couch, your back will hate you and you will be even more cranky than you are already."

"You're just trying to get me into your bed." The answer came before Tony could even consider censoring it and for a moment he kicked himself for the misfiring of his brain-to-mouth filter.

Then Ziva's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Maybe." She handed up his crutches and took the ice pack. "If you behave, I might even make Ferakh Maamer for dinner."

The offer of the Moroccan dish as a bribe for good behaviour made up his mind and Tony slowly started to lever up from the couch. "For that, I'll definitely be good."

"Then go and rest," Ziva directed, getting to her feet and stepping back to allow him room to move. "I will wake you in a couple of hours."

He resisted the temptation to answer, "Yes, ma'am," and instead began the slow hobble in the direction of the bedroom door. He half expected her to follow him - to make sure he was doing as she'd directed - but she didn't. Instead, she headed back to the kitchen with the now melted ice pack. Apparently, she was going to trust him to behave. Tony wasn't sure what to make of that.

The bedroom was much as he'd expected. A large bed piled with several blankets dominated the room, with a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a small nightstand rounding out the room's furnishings. It was still a comfortable room, but a lot less homely than the living room, suggesting that Ziva spent very little time in here. Given the pristine state of the bed, he half wondered if she had, perhaps, been sleeping out on the couch - which would explain that item's extravagance - but as he lowered himself onto the mattress, he realised that she'd probably just changed the sheets and made the bed.

As he bent to untie the laces of his sneakers, his gaze fell on the contents of the nightstand and he felt his stomach tighten. There was a single picture frame on there, filled by a single image - one he didn't remember her taking, but it had to have been her work, rather than Abby's because the image was from a crime scene. Then he looked again and decided that the photographer had actually been McGee; the crime scene was one they had processed only two or three days after their return from Somalia. The picture itself was fairly unremarkable - it showed him crouching over a piece of evidence, a frown on his face. It was not a particularly flattering shot - or even a particularly good one - and the fact that she had it at all confused him.

"You have found it," Ziva said, dragging his attention away from the picture.

Not for the first time, it seemed she had made good use of her ninja skills to creep up on him. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; he certainly should have known she wouldn't simply trust him to lie down without her supervision. She'd probably expected to come in and find him rifling through her drawers or something equally DiNozzo-ish. That she hadn't ought to have pleased her, he felt, except she didn't look pleased. She looked tense.

He tried for a joking tone: "Trying to give yourself nightmares?"

"Trying to remind myself that the nightmares did not happen," she replied.

Tony didn't know what to make of that answer.

"I thought you were going to lie down," Ziva continued, changing the subject.

"Workin' on it," Tony answered, allowing the subject change to go unchallenged. "Not exactly Speedy Gonzales right now." At her blank look, he sighed. "Right. Never mind." He finally finished removing his sneakers and started to inch back onto the bed. "This isn't a spectator sport."

That earned him a smirk. "I have put fresh towels in the bathroom for you," she said. "And I have brought your next dose of painkillers, which you will take," she finished with a look that dared him to argue as she held out a glass of water and two little white pills.

Tony gave in without a word and dutifully swallowed both pills.

"I will wake you when it is time for dinner." She turned to go, then paused. "We will talk then."

Before he could ask for clarification, she departed, leaving Tony confused. Just what was it she wanted to talk about, he wondered. But, as the painkillers began to turn the world fuzzy, he decided that perhaps he should worry about it later. Right there and then, sleep seemed like a good idea.

Maybe when he woke up, things would start making sense again.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	7. Seven

Uh, well. I know apologies are a sign of weakness, but I really do have to begin this with a bit of a grovel. Suffice to say that I've had an interesting fortnight, which I've managed to round out with a fairly spectacular cold (which is why I didn't post on Friday - I've long since learned that cold-meds and posting are NOT to be combined!). Thankfully, though, things are settling down again so I've got every hope of getting back on track. Thank you for all your lovely comments and to everyone who's favourited, alerted and read. I am absolutely blown away by the response to this story.

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Seven

Ziva sat at her kitchen table with one eye on the stove, where the Ferakh Maamer was bubbling away nicely, and the other on the clock. Any minute now, Ducky ought to be arriving to give Tony a quick check up - to make sure that the relocation had done no further damage - and once that had happened, that would leave her only a precious few minutes before she would have to do as she'd promised and actually talk to Tony.

It was a nerve wracking prospect.

It was a talk that they should have had long before now, but apart from one brief - and interrupted - attempt not long after their return from Somalia, she had resisted making the effort. For one thing, she hadn't known where to begin; for another, Tony had been unapproachable in all bar the most superficial of ways for much of the past nine months. This whole misadventure, however, was both a wake up call and an opportunity. She had already decided that this was to be their shot at reclaiming a proper friendship and allowing him to see the photos, and particularly the one she kept beside her bed, was a way of locking herself onto that course.

That didn't make it any less terrifying.

A sharp knock on the apartment front door brought Ziva back to the present. Ducky was here. For a moment, she debated whether to wake Tony now or wait until the Scotsman was ready. Then, as a second knock sounded, she decided that Tony could sleep just a little longer. She reached the door just as a third knock rattled against the woodwork, which made her frown. Ducky was normally a man of patience, and this attack on her door was extremely out of character for him.

Caution made her peer through the spyglass to double check her visitor was who she was expecting. A moment later, and startled beyond all reason, she opened the door to come face to face with Jimmy Palmer.

"You are not Ducky," she said.

"Uh, no," Jimmy agreed. "Dr Mallard sent me instead - I can explain!" His last words were almost yelped, as she lifted her eyebrow in silent question.

"I should hope so." Ziva stepped back to allow him access to her apartment. As she did so, she noted that he was carrying two bags and there was a further three carrier bags on the door step. "What are these?"

"We - well, Abby and Dr Mallard actually - thought you, uh, since you'd been on duty, uh, you know, that, uh, you might be running low on supplies." He set down the bags he was carrying and turned to collect the other three.

Ziva blinked and finally recognised the bags as having come from the local market. "You have bought me groceries?"

"Only what Abby and Dr Mallard told me to get!" Jimmy added hastily.

Ziva managed a smile as she closed the door behind him. "And the other bags?"

"Oh, I, uh, thought Tony might want a change of clothes."

The casual way Jimmy said it made Ziva pause. She wondered how he'd acquired that change of clothes, then decided that she would be better served enquiring about Ducky's absence. "So what has happened?"

Jimmy's adams apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. "The Reynosas managed to get onto the Navy Yard and messed with Dr Mallard and Abby's cars," he answered. "No-one was hurt, but, uh, Director Vance and Special Agent Gibbs thought I'd be less conspicuous coming here instead."

It was on the tip of Ziva's tongue to suggest that there were few things that were more conspicuous than the gawky Autopsy Gremlin. Then she reassessed. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt for a local sports team, and without his working overalls on, Jimmy did look inconspicuous and while she wasn't sure precisely what kind of car he drove, it was a safe bet it was something far less stand-out than Ducky's Morgan or Abby's hotrod. Lamely she simply said, "I see."

"So, uh, where would you like me to put these?" Jimmy asked, indicating the bags he was still holding.

Ziva held out a hand. "I will see to them; thank you. You are here for Tony, so he is who you should be looking after."

To her surprise, Jimmy's expression turned serious. "He is all right, you know?"

"I know."

He handed over the bags of groceries. "Just wanted to make sure that you knew that."

Ziva slowly raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

If she'd expected that to intimidate Jimmy a second time, however, she was in for another surprise. He stood his ground and offered the faintest of smiles. "Because you care a lot about him and..." He stopped short at her glare, then added, "And I'll go and see Tony now."

Ziva pointed towards the bedroom. "He is through there."

Jimmy nodded, grabbed the bag of clothes and one of the other bags, which presumably contained sundry medical supplies, and headed in the direction she had indicated. A moment later, as Ziva carried the remaining three bags into the kitchen, she heard the murmur of conversation spark up and knew that Jimmy had woken Tony and begun the check up.

Dismissing that from her thoughts, Ziva began the process of unpacking groceries which were, she had to admit, something that she was in dire need of. Ducky and Abby had been correct about that and if, as Jimmy had insisted, they had been the ones to write the shopping list, they had been extremely careful to pick out foods that would suit both her and Tony. There were ingredients to make lasagna and enough cheese and tomato sauce to make up several pizzas in one bag while another contained all the fresh fruit and vegetables that she could want. The third bag contained coffee, tea and - to her amusement - a couple of packets of cookies. They had to be Abby's inclusion.

She decided to make use of the newly purchased coffee and set about brewing a potful. As she did so, she caught a muffled yelp and guessed that Jimmy was checking on the status of Tony's shoulder wound. She winced in sympathy and rummaged through her cupboards until she found the hazelnut creamer that she'd bought not long after moving in, assuming that Tony would undoubtedly stop by sooner or later - she just hadn't realised how much later it would be.

A minute or two later, Jimmy poked his head into the kitchen. "No damage done," he pronounced. "I've left supplies to change the dressings on the shoulder wound in the bathroom."

"They will need changing in the morning, yes?" Ziva enquired.

Jimmy nodded. "Dr Mallard said he would try to come by tomorrow night."

"If he cannot, you will?"

Jimmy nodded again. "Hope Dr Mallard can, though. Tony's kinda grouchy when he's hurting."

It was another casual statement that made Ziva wonder, but as she couldn't argue with its content she simply nodded. "Thank you for the groceries, Jimmy."

That got a rare, shy smile out of Jimmy. "Any time. I'll let myself out."

And with that, he headed out. A moment later, Ziva heard the front door open, then close again heralding his actual departure. Soon after, she heard the sounds of Tony's crutches creak and the muffled thump of his hampered gait. She turned to the kitchen doorway just as he limped into view.

"So, I guess we're gonna talk now, huh?" he asked.

Ziva took a long breath, then nodded. "That is what I said." She gestured to the table, where a chair was pulled out ready. "Let us talk."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	8. Eight

Famous last words... It's been another interesting month or so, one way or another. Not the least of which was the holiday season which rather snuck up on me while I was strung out on more cold meds. Hopefully things really ARE now settling back and I can get this story rounded off in a timely fashion! Thank you for all your lovely comments and to everyone who's favourited, alerted and read. I am absolutely blown away by the response to this story.

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Eight

Tony slowly lowered himself onto the chair Ziva had indicated. As he did so, she briskly pulled out another chair and indicated he should rest his injured leg on it. Then, before he could say a word, she had produced the ice pack and had applied it to his knee once more.

"Jimmy gave you a clean invoice of health?" she asked.

"Bill - and yeah, as much as he could."

"Invoice, bill, same difference."

"No it's-" Tony stopped, recognising the slip as a delaying tactic. "It's actually not important: you wanted to talk."

Ziva sighed. "I have never been able to sidetrack you."

"So?"

She pulled out a chair for herself and sat down. "I...have things that I should have said to you a long time ago. Things I should have explained."

Tony frowned. "Pretty sure there's nothing you need to tell me, Ziva."

"I have told Gibbs some of this," she continued, ignoring him. "Abby knows some of it, too. She is the one who told me I should tell you."

And now Tony began to have a suspicion about what she was going to reveal. "Really, Zi, there is nothing you need to tell me. I don't-"

"In my nightmares, you are dead."

Tony's mouth closed with a snap. That was comfortably the last thing he'd expected her to say.

"Sometimes, it is Saleem. Sometimes it is Michael. Sometimes it is Hadar or my father. It does not matter who, though. The outcome is always the same: you are dead and I can do nothing to stop it."

"Ziva, I-"

She shook her head. "I thought, when you found me and brought me home, that the nightmare would go away. That everything would return to normal. But it hasn't."

"Ziva-"

"Please," she said softly. "Let me say this." Then, before he could make another attempt to interrupt, she said, "I thought that it would be enough, that what I said in the men's room was sufficient to make things right again, but I was wrong. I said that it did not matter what happened that night, but it did matter. Does matter." She swallowed. "I knew then that Michael would have left you no choice. The reason I was not there when you arrived is I was trying to arrange Michael's extraction because I knew that- that he was out of control."

"Mossad set up the explosion in your apartment," Tony realised.

"Hadar's idea of 'cleaning up'," said Ziva bitterly. "He told me that the whole mess was my fault, that there was no one left to blame beyond myself. I could not accept that then, but, I accept it now. The moment I chose to lie about Michael, to you and to Gibbs, I set everything in motion and-"

"Damnit, Ziva, it was not all on you and Hadar's an even bigger ass than I was crediting him with being for suggesting it," Tony cut in, unwilling to listen to her attempts at self-flagellation any further. "Sure, you could have done stuff differently, but I'm not blameless in this - what happened in your apartment was as much my screw up as anyone else's. More. I was the one dumb enough to think that after being told by Gibbs and me to get the hell out of Dodge Michael Rivkin had taken the hint."

"I told him, too," Ziva admitted.

Tony nodded, not really surprised. "At that point, then, out of the three of us, you come out with the most credit. You were the one actually following protocol."

"I still screwed up, Tony."

"Maybe, but you can't blame yourself for the choices I made and you really can't blame yourself for the choices Rivkin and your father made for you. And...you were kinda right."

"About what?"

Tony rubbed the back of his neck in sheepish fashion. "I probably was kinda jealous."

That earned him a watery sort of giggle from Ziva. "Kind of?" she echoed.

"Yeah, yeah. Abby and McGee already slapped me with the clue-by-four."

"Clue-by-four?"

"Think: Gibbs-slap but with no actual hitting and lots of Abby-tangents."

"Ah." Ziva eyed him doubtfully. "I thought it was a piece of wood."

Tony sighed. "No, that's a two-by-four."

She shook her head. "American idioms," she muttered in disgust. She stood up. "There is one other thing that I must say."

Tony lifted an eyebrow in silent question. Given the way the conversation had gone so far, he wasn't even going to try and guess what she was going to say next.

Ziva smiled. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked blankly.

"For being the one to find me."

"But I didn't-"

"Abby told me that the whole search for Saleem was your idea, not Gibbs'."

"Oh." Tony rubbed the back of his neck again. "That."

"It was an impressive operation," said Ziva, turning to face the stove. "Especially from my perspective."

"I guess."

Tony was grateful that Ziva was too busy now dishing up the Ferakh Maamer to notice his discomfort. As difficult as discussing the whole Rivkin affair was, discussing what followed would be infinitely worse. Rivkin made sense, with the hindsight of a year. Somalia, not so much.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	9. Nine

Again, thank you for all your lovely comments and to everyone who's favourited, alerted and read. I am absolutely blown away by the response to this story. I also want to say thank you for your patience, given my slightly spotty posting record. We're officially into the home straight now, though!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly. Any resemblance between this part and Ships in the Night (which I won't get to see until early March!) is entirely accidental.

Coming Back To Life

Nine

Dinner was an oddly subdued affair. After a couple of abortive efforts at beginning a conversation with a Tony who had suddenly reverted to near-Gibbs-like monosyllables, Ziva gave in and allowed the meal to pass in silence. It was clear that there was something new bothering him, in addition to the pain he was still dealing with, but it was equally clear that it wasn't something he wanted to discuss. As she got up to clear the empty plates, however, he seemed to shake off whatever it was.

"That was great, thanks."

Ziva smiled. "You are welcome." She settled the empty plates into the sink. "Would you like anything else? More coffee, perhaps?"

"No - I'm good. Thanks." He started the process of struggling back to his feet. "Think maybe I ought to go lie down again, though."

And almost despite herself, Ziva felt a brief flash of disappointment. "Oh? I thought that perhaps we could watch a movie. It is early yet."

"Zi, if I sit down on your couch, I'll be asleep inside of five minutes," he admitted sheepishly.

Ziva smirked. "I should mark this day on the calendar, yes?"

"Yeah - not gonna be every day I turn down a movie. I, uh..." He trailed off, uncomfortably. "You don't have a guest bedroom here, do you?"

The question was an apparent non sequiter. Ziva slowly shook her head. "I have not needed one since my return to Washington," she admitted. Then a thought struck her and she shook her head more vigorously. "No; you will not sleep on the couch."

"Seems wrong, me kicking you out of your own bedroom."

Ziva sighed. They had had this argument in Paris, too. Here, though, at least she categorically held the upper hand. "Perhaps, if you were not badly injured and barely released from hospital. As it is, if your sense of chivalry is bothered by it, just remind yourself that by not taking the couch you will not have to endure a lecture from one or more of the doctors who are looking after you."

Tony grimaced. "I know all that. Doesn't stop it from feeling wrong."

Before Ziva could find a suitable response, he had managed to limp away and a moment later she heard the bedroom door close behind him. She sighed again and wondered, not for the first time, just why it was a man who could make an effortless mountain of pain out of a molehill of a papercut could make so little fuss about a serious injury. Just as when she'd first posed that question, however, she was still no nearer an answer. At least then she'd had the excuse of having only known him for a couple of months. The fact that she still didn't understand it, five years later, was a little more embarrassing.

But then, contrary to the assessment she'd handed to Ari before the start of the mission that had gone so hideously wrong, Tony was a vastly more complicated person than most people were willing to admit.

She sighed once more and turned her attention to the dishes in the sink. As much as she would love to someday be able to say that she had unravelled the enigma that was Anthony DiNozzo, it was highly unlikely that she could achieve it in one evening. Better to shelve the train of thought and concentrate on what she could solve in one evening - like the dishes. They, at least, were things that were well within her ability to understand and control.

That thought actually made her giggle as she began running clean water into the sink. She wondered what Tony's reaction would be to learning that she had just decided he was more complicated than a sink full of dirty dishes and suspected that he wouldn't be terribly pleased by the comparison.

"I must be tired," she murmured with another giggle and a shake of the head. "Punchy, perhaps?" Tony had once explained the concept to her; she suspected that approaching forty-eight hours without sleep probably fitted his definition.

Deciding that perhaps this was not a good time to be handling things as fragile as china plates, Ziva left the dishes to soak and headed out into the living room. It was the work of barely a moment to pop a DVD into the machine and turn the television on. It took even less time to turn out the rest of the lights and settle down on a couch that was just the perfect length for her to lie on. She knew she wouldn't see much of the film, but she hoped that the dreams _Casablanca_ induced would be rather more pleasant than those that would result if she tried to sleep with silence as a backdrop.

The next thing Ziva knew, she could feel a gentle hand on her shoulder and a hiss of, "Ziva!" aimed somewhere in the direction of her ear. Coming wide-eyed-awake with a start, she realised that Tony was looming awkwardly over the couch, his face lit only by the pale light from the television.

"Tony? What are you doing?"

"You were screaming."

"I was?" Ziva blinked. "I do not remember." Though it was difficult to make out, she had no doubt he was giving her the look he usually reserved for suspects with particularly flimsy stories. "It is true - I do not always remember what I dream of." She swallowed and realised that her throat did have that just-gargled-sand feel that suggested it had been one of her bloodier nightmares. "In this case, I think I am glad." She swallowed again and finally took in a few more details of the scene. "What are you doing out of bed and without your crutches?"

The moment the question left her lips, Ziva wished she could call it back. She didn't need to see Tony's full expression to know he was now regarding her with a mix of hurt and anger. "Excuse me for caring," he muttered, drawing back as if stung.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "I did not mean that as it sounded."

He didn't return to his previous closeness, but something about his posture relaxed a little again. "Wasn't sure if- well, after what you said earlier... Seemed like a good idea."

And now Ziva felt even more ashamed of lashing out at him. "Thank you."

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he inclined his head towards the television where the DVD menu was playing through its loop. "Enjoy the movie?"

"I do not think I saw more than the opening credits," Ziva admitted. "Apparently, you were not the only one tired by today." She reached out for the remote control and turned the television off, plunging the room into complete darkness. "Perhaps you should be getting back to bed?" she suggested carefully, even as she groped for the table lamp's switch. "Did Brad not tell you to keep off your knee?"

"Who died and made you an orthopaedic surgeon?" Tony shot back, but there was actual humour in his tone this time. "I know enough about my knee to know it's fine right now."

The lamp came on, casting a golden halo across the room and making visible to Ziva's eyes the fact that, once again, Tony's mouth might be saying he was fine, but the lines of pain creased into his face told a different story. "Are you seriously telling me that your knee is not hurting you now?"

For a second, she thought he was going to lie. Then his expression crumbled into a rueful grimace. "Okay, yeah. Feels like there's a red hot poker goin' through it, but on a scale of one to blowing the whole joint, it doesn't rate a decimal."

Ziva rolled her eyes and slowly swung her legs off the couch. "Here," she said. "At least sit down."

"Better idea," came the answer unexpectedly. "How 'bout I make us some hot chocolate, then we both go back to bed."

Ziva noted that he didn't necessarily mean sleep. "Why hot chocolate?"

Tony's expression morphed again, this time to something that - on anyone else - would have suggested he was shy. "Used to be what m'mom or Rosa would make for me if I woke up with a nightmare."

At the unexpected mention of his mother, Ziva couldn't help but stare. It was only the second time she could ever recall him mentioning her and where the other mention had been a flippant quip, this was obviously something that meant far more. Unfortunately, her prolonged silence had an inevitable consequence.

"Y'know, dumb idea. Shouldn't have mentioned it. I'll-"

"Hot chocolate sounds like a nice idea," Ziva cut in hastily. "I will help."

"You don't need to." Tony was already beginning a shuffling limp in the direction of the kitchen. "I can manage."

Ziva got to her feet and followed. "You have one arm in a sling and you can barely stand. I will help," she said firmly.

"I can manage." This time the words were terse. "Managed before."

Ziva rolled her eyes and nimbly stepped around him into the kitchen. "Just because you had to manage before, it does not mean you should have to manage now." She pulled the bottle of milk out of the fridge as she spoke and then looked up to meet his stormy gaze. "I would like to help."

For a moment, she thought he was going to lash out again. Then his good shoulder hitched in a shrug and, without saying a word, went to pull out a couple of mugs from her cupboard. It was hardly a ringing endorsement, Ziva decided, but it would do as a start.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	10. Ten

Again, thank you for all your lovely comments and to everyone who's favourited, alerted and read. I am absolutely blown away by the response to this story. I had hoped to get this posted last week, but RL concerns rather got in the way. On the upside, this part is going to launch into a week of anything up to five updates (still debating exactly how many chunks I need to split what's written into!), so...!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Ten

Tony was only too glad when the dawn broke. Although he had been able to go back to sleep after Ziva's nightmare, a combination of concern, guilt and the pain from his assorted injuries had ensured that the sleep was fitful at best. The pain was easy to explain - for all his assurances to Ziva the night before, it was clear that his night-time promenade hadn't improved his knee in the slightest. The concern also made sense; after all, the fact that Ziva was suffering nightmares told him that she wasn't quite as 'all right' as she tried to make out. The guilt, however, was much more complicated. The source was obvious: he shouldn't have reacted like he did over Ziva's offer of help with the hot chocolate. The explanation, though...

Just why did he have such a problem accepting help? He supposed it probably stemmed from his father's strictures on self-reliance and most of the time - when he was fit and firing on all cylinders - he could manage to swallow all but an expected token protest. The problem was when he wasn't fit. The times when, rationally at least, he knew he really did need help. Those tended to be when oldest habits returned.

"You are one screwed up son-of-a-bitch," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with his free hand.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. Then: "Are you awake, Tony?"

The question brought an unwilling smirk to his face. "Asking that wouldn't do you any good if I wasn't," he shot back.

Ziva chuckled lightly as she pushed the door open. "Even if you had answered no, I would still have come in," she said, setting a glass of water and yet more pills down on the nightstand.

"What if I'd been asleep and naked?"

Ziva gave him a long, assessing look, then shrugged. "Then I would have enjoyed the view."

Tony found himself blushing at that frank statement and yet there was something comforting in it: it felt normal. This was them. Banter and sexual innuendo. It was what had been missing for most of the last nine months. For a moment, at least, he considered leaving the topic of the previous night alone to bask in the return of normalcy. Except that there'd been way too many things that they'd left alone and look where that had got them.

"Zi, about last night," he began. "I'm sorry."

"Take your pills," Ziva directed, though she was smiling. "You were in pain from doing me a good turn and I should know better."

"You offered to help me make cocoa," said Tony dryly. "Not exactly the sort of thing most people expect to get their heads bitten off for."

"Perhaps," she allowed. "But I should know by now that you stroke a porcupine in the direction of his spines; not against them."

Tony blinked. "Are you calling me a porcupine?"

"It is not the first time, yes?" Ziva smirked. "The pills are one painkiller and one antibiotic."

This time Tony followed the implied order and took them both. "Ziva, I'm tryin' to apologise - for real."

"And I am saying you do not need to."

"Yeah, I do." He sighed. "Look: the last couple of years have really sucked, one way or another and somewhere in that mess, we seem to- to have stopped being friends. And I want that back. And that means I need to man up when I screw up - which I did last night."

Ziva slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. "I, too, would like us to go back to being proper friends," she said slowly. "And I do not disagree that if either of us should screw up, we need to settle it properly. But, I do not believe that you did screw up last night. You were in pain - no matter that you said you were fine - and that gives you a- a pass, yes? People in pain are allowed to be shrimpy."

For a long moment, Tony could only stare at Ziva. Then, despite his better efforts, he started to laugh. "Shrimpy?" he gasped, grimacing as all four of the broken ribs complained at once over their treatment. "Please tell me you faked that one."

Ziva's eyes sparkled with humour. "It should be crabby, yes?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "You're gonna kill me with one of those, sooner or later."

Ziva smirked. "If the pneumonic plague could not kill you, I doubt my English will."

There was a moment of silence between them. Then, hesitantly, Tony said, "So we're good?"

"We are good," Ziva agreed. "Now, sit up and I can change the dressings on your shoulder."

Tony did as she asked - the manoeuvre made dicy thanks to the broken ribs - and she got down to work.

"I thought, perhaps, we might have your lasagne for dinner tonight," she suggested.

Tony winced as the wound was jarred. "My lasagne means me cooking it and there's no way I can do that. I know my limits-" Ziva snorted in disbelief, "-and right now, I don't think I could chop an onion if you paid me."

Ziva chuckled. "Ah," she said. "But that is what I am here for. You are a supervisory agent, yes? So you supervise while I chop."

"You just want to know what's in my secret sauce."

"That, too." Ziva was placid in her admission. "You have to admit, you have held out remarkably well against my other methods of acquiring information."

"Only because you-" he hissed as she settled the new dressing in place, accidentally pressing a hair too firmly, "-you didn't actually break out the knives and paperclips. Ouch."

"Sorry." And she did actually sound contrite. "There; all done. You may get up now. Jimmy brought over some fresh clothes, yes?"

"Yeah." Tony was actually surprised he hadn't yet been on the receiving end of an inquisition over the concept of the Autopsy Gremlin having enough access to his property to produce spare clothes.

Almost as if cued, Ziva said, "He has a key to your apartment?"

"He waters the plants if I'm out of town."

That earned a raised eyebrow. "You have house plants?"

Tony offered a half-hearted smirk at her scepticism. "Abby's suggestion. She, uh, told me I needed a hobby."

"House plants are a hobby?"

"More like a distraction."

"A distraction?"

Tony winced as he realised he was going to have to explain now. "She, uh, got me a couple of Venus Flytrap plants last summer."

"Last- Oh." Ziva ducked her head. "I see."

"Yeah." Tony rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly.

There was a brief moment, when once again the elephant that was Somalia took up residence in the middle of the room. Then it passed as all Ziva said in reply was, "You will have to introduce me to them, then. When the Reynosa Cartel have been neutralised."

"Deal."

Ziva nodded once and then stood. "I shall make coffee."

And with that she disappeared, leaving Tony to begin the slow process of getting up.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	11. Eleven

First, many, many thank yous to everyone who's reviewed/favourited/alerted - or even just read without comment. I'm extremely glad that folks are enjoying this - even allowing for my (more than slightly) spotty posting record. Secondly, thank you all for your patience - life has been rather crowded lately and there has been some fairly heinous writer's block going on as well, which has been why this part stalled for so long. The good news is, not only is this part now ready for posting, but so are the next two and the couple of parts after that are almost so (one's written but needs a serious edit; the other is still short an ending and some fairly crucial description (!) but I'll be working on that once I've finished posting) and since all four are essentially part of the same conversation (!), I will be posting them over the next week.

For anyone also waiting for more of A Kind of Magic, I'm hoping to have a new installment of that up this weekend - but I'll say more about that when I do post!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Eleven

After the seriousness of their early morning conversation, it was perhaps only natural that Tony's more effervescent side would kick in and, for once, Ziva was genuinely pleased to see it. Apart from the brief crack about her attempting to get him into her bed from the afternoon before, his sense of humour had been disturbingly absent and that was always an unsettling proposition. So she had been relieved when he proceeded to crack jokes over breakfast and she had happily played along when he'd suggested she leave the kitchen for five minutes so he could mix the spices for his secret lasagne sauce. Having her spice rack rearranged in an elaborate effort to disguise which of those jars had made a contribution was less pleasing and more annoying, but the sound of his chuckles more than made up for the annoyance of having to resort her spices - or the frustration of knowing that he had, quite successfully, prevented her from figuring out what the special ingredients were.

"I will work it out eventually," she warned as she pulled out a chopping block, ready to begin her part of the lasagne production.

"You might," Tony shot back, slowly lowering himself onto a seat a the kitchen table. "But even Major Mass Spec had difficulty with it."

"Abby knows?"

"Only because she used Major Mass Spec." Tony smirked. "Which most people would think was cheating."

Ziva snorted. "If you will not talk, perhaps she will."

"Abby is a little more susceptible to the right kind of bribe."

Ziva made a mental note to acquire a Chocoholic's Choice cupcake at her earliest convenience. "All right, how many onions must I chop?"

"Just one. Two cloves of garlic as well, though."

She nodded and began the business of peeling and chopping. "You have never told me where this recipe originates from."

"Italy. Family," Tony answered. "When I was fifteen, dad dumped me on the Italian cousins for a summer. Nonna Ciri took pity on me and let me help her out in the kitchen cause it was about the only place where the little Italian I knew wasn't gonna get me into trouble."

"Your father left you, on your own, in a country where you did not speak the language?" Ziva was outraged by that prospect.

"It was a learning experience - and it's not like none of the cousins spoke English. Giovanni was a pretty good linguist. It actually ended up being a really good summer. Beat the hell out of summer camp, too."

For all his bravado about it, Ziva could still sense the feelings of abandonment and it made her heartsick. As bad as her own father had been at least she could understand his behaviour; the casual neglect Tony's father had inflicted was vastly more inexplicable. She decided to change the subject, before Tony realised just how upset she was: "Once these are chopped, then what?"

"Brown the beef, onions and garlic, then add the tomato sauce that's all mixed up ready," he gestured to the bowl on the counter where, presumably, the spices he'd picked out had been successfully incorporated, "stir it together, season it then leave it to simmer for an hour or so."

Ziva nodded. That part, at least, was not remotely different to her own recipe. She finished chopping the onion and started on the garlic. "Once the sauce is simmering, what would you like to do?"

"We could-"

Whatever Tony was about to say, however, was lost as at that moment, the kitchen light flickered and then went out.

"Blackout?"

"It is either that, or my downstairs neighbour has overloaded the building's supply again."

Tony's eyebrows rose at that. "And I thought I lived in a crap apartment building."

"You do," said Ziva with some asperity as she lit the gas burner beneath the pan she was going to use. "In this building, it is just the one neighbour. He is-" She hesitated for a few moments, struggling to choose the right words. "He is a nice man but-"

"But he can overload the electric supply in an entire apartment block," Tony finished. "So probably dumb as a bunch of rocks."

"I have known smarter rocks," Ziva admitted as she started to brown the meat.

"And now I know why you haven't gone ninja on his ass."

"And why is that?"

"Because it'd be like going ninja on a kitten," said Tony. "Unnecessarily cruel and wouldn't even achieve anything."

Ziva snorted and didn't dispute the accuracy of that statement. A moment later and the light flickered back on again. "Problem solved." She carefully added the tomato mixture to the pan. "You were going to suggest we watch a DVD, yes?"

"You said yourself, you didn't get to see too much of _Casablanca_ last night and it really is a classic. And, plus, when the film's done, so will the sauce be."

"One condition," said Ziva, finally turning away from the stove, pan ready to simmer. "I would like to simply enjoy this film. No commentary from you or trivia or any pausing so that you can explain a cinematic technique or-"

"Hey, I only did that once!" Tony objected.

Ziva favoured him with a long look. "Once was more than enough."

He relented. "All right."

"And no reciting the dialogue, either," she added as an after thought.

"My lips will be sealed."

"No humming."

"You're no fun."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	12. Twelve

After Thursday's shorter chapter, here's a long one. More on Tuesday...

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Twelve

The movie went well - though Tony had to admit that he'd perhaps been more entertained by Ziva's reactions to the classic romance than he had been by Bogart and Bergman. He had stayed true to his word and had kept his mouth shut for the duration of the film, but as the DVD menu now came up again he was moved to say, "Well?"

"Well what?" Ziva enquired, crouching to retrieve the disc from the DVD player.

"What did you think?"

"It is a good movie." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You were expecting me to say something else?"

"I'm just curious to know what you thought about it."

"If you are expecting a critical analysis of an American film icon-"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I just wanna know if you enjoyed it, Zee-vah. I'm not setting a quiz."

Ziva smirked and turned back to the DVD player. "McGee was wrong. You would make a very plausible film professor."

"There was a reason Jenny pitched on it as a cover identity." Tony paused. "McGee didn't agree?"

Ziva shook her head. "He was panicking at the time."

"Was this before or after my car blew up?" Tony asked, surprising himself with the question. It wasn't a day any of them were fond of revisiting.

"Just before - when we knew you were in trouble, but not how much." Ziva snapped the DVD box shut and turned to face him. "It was not a good morning."

"I've had better Saturdays," he agreed. He'd had worse ones, too - but mentioning any of them were as good as inviting questions about topics he would still rather avoid. "So, did you enjoy the film?"

Ziva looked relieved by the subject change. "Yes. I am, perhaps, even a little sorry that I did not watch it sooner."

Tony smiled faintly. "I don't recommend the good stuff just to hear myself talk. Well," he amended, "not often at least."

To his surprise, that remark earned him one of Ziva's more piercing glares. "Why do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Under...slice? No. Whelm? No." Ziva grimaced and offered up a Spanish phrase which Tony took to be the equivalent of whatever English concept she was struggling with.

"Undercut," he translated, puzzled.

"Yes! That." Ziva sighed. "Why? You have a valid point - I know that your film recommendations are genuinely intended - and then you make it into a joke, and I do not understand why."

The question took Tony aback. "I don't-"

"You just did it!" Ziva exclaimed. "And it is far from the first time. I have heard you do it time and time again."

For a moment, Tony considered continuing to play dumb and decided that while his injured status would probably protect him from physical harm, the earache definitely wasn't worth it. He sighed and hitched his good shoulder up and down in a half-shrug. "Defence mechanism, I guess."

If anything, Ziva looked even more annoyed by that response. "How is it a defence mechanism to invite ridicule?" she demanded.

"Just easier if you get in first."

Ziva looked sceptical. "Really?"

"Nobody wants to hurt an idiot." Even as he said it, Tony inwardly cringed. There was no way Ziva was going to let that one slide.

Sure enough: "And people have wanted to hurt you?"

"No." At her mutinous frown he added, "Mostly because I figured out how to be treated as harmless."

"By pretending to be an idiot and constantly undercutting your standing?" Ziva's scornful expression told him exactly what she thought of that idea.

Defensively, Tony retorted, "I know it's probably not a Mossad-approved tactic but I was just a kid-"

"Exactly!" There was an oddly triumphant note to Ziva's voice. "You should not have needed to learn such a thing."

Tony gaped. "What?"

"If there is one thing that I have learned in my time here," said Ziva more gently, finally returning to her seat on the couch, "it is that childhood should be a time of fun. It should not be a time to learn survival techniques."

"Sure. If you have Gibbs for a father. Or maybe a McDad." Tony sighed, his defensiveness melting into rueful recognition of the fact that if anyone should know that, it was Ziva. "Neither of us exactly lucked out when it came to Daddy Dearest but-"

"You once asked me the first time I realised my father was not perfect," Ziva cut in.

Tony blinked at the unexpected redirection. "In the cargo container." He nodded slowly. "I remember. I wasn't seriously asking - just trying to get a conversation going."

Ziva flashed a faint smile. "Perhaps, but I do have an answer for you. If you are willing to hear it?"

There was a joke about delayed reactions that crossed his mind, but sensing this was something serious, he held it back. Instead, he nodded again and said, "Sure."

"The first time I realised my father was not perfect was crouching on the steps of Gibbs' basement, just before I killed my brother."

That had been about the last thing Tony had been expecting Ziva to say and as a consequence, it took him several moments to find a response. "That's definitely some kind of wake up call. I'm sorry that's what it took."

Ziva eyed him for a moment. "You are not surprised that I shot Ari."

"Well, no." He scratched the back of his neck in a vaguely sheepish gesture. "I got a look at the ballistics report and Gibbs' action report and the angles were off - not by enough for it to be obvious, but more than enough for anyone who knows Gibbs' basement well. I knew there had to be a second shooter - and since I knew it wasn't me or Jenny and Gibbs wouldn't have had Probie as his back up under those circumstances..." He trailed off and shrugged awkwardly.

"You never said anything."

"Was I supposed to? I always assumed there was a damn good reason for Gibbs to be lying - or he thought there was."

Ziva nodded slowly, though her expression suggested she wasn't quite sure how to handle the fact that he'd known something she'd obviously considered to be a closely guarded secret. "And what do you think?"

"That there isn't a pit deep enough in the whole of hell for your father to be shoved into for what he made you do." Tony was adamant on that point.

"No," Ziva agreed. "And yet, if he had not ordered me after Ari, I would not be here now." The pensive expression on Ziva's face told Tony there was something else going through her mind, but even in his wildest nightmares he wouldn't have guessed her next question: "Have you ever wondered where you would be if you had not joined NCIS?"

"I try not to. Pretty sure the answer is either face down in the gutter or face up in a morgue." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could call them back, particularly as Ziva turned an incredulous stare on him. Why the hell was his brain-to-mouth filter letting him down so badly now?

"Why?" she finally demanded.

He snorted and shook his head. "You already know." The genie was already out of the bottle, but that didn't mean he was going to give up the details without a fight.

"No I-" Ziva stopped and grimaced. "You are thinking of the dossiers I wrote for Ari, yes?"

"You knew where I went to school."

"A matter of public record," she admitted. "As was much of what was in those dossiers. Only Gibbs was judged important enough to merit more digging than that." Ziva hesitated a beat, then added, "Not the first time that Mossad misjudged you."

"Won't be the last." Tony rubbed at his face with his free hand, oddly off-balanced by the realisation that the screw up he'd worked so hard to hide wasn't already laid bare in Ziva's mind. "So you really don't know?"

"I know when you joined NCIS and I know that had something to do with Gibbs. I also know some of what your father said and did when you were twelve - which is not a matter of public record, but it is something you once told Abby and she told me-"

"Why?" And for the life of him, Tony couldn't still the masochistic desire to know why on earth any of that should have ever come up.

Ziva grimaced. "It was shortly after Gibbs left for Mexico."

"That's a when, not a why."

"It was during the Stephens case," Ziva continued.

"Oh." Tony supposed he ought to have guessed that was the case involved. It had been a brutal one for everyone involved.

"I could not understand why you took that case so hard, when we have had others that were similar." Ziva looked down at her hands for a moment. "Abby explained."

"Guess I'll have to thank her." Bitterness riddled his tone at the limp explanation - because, of course, his childhood was the only reason he might have reacted badly to a case where an eighteen month old little boy was literally shaken to death.

"Tony, it was not like that."

"So you didn't just go behind my back and interrogate one of my friends to find out details about my personal life? Because it's not like you've ever done that before."

Ziva winced at that accusation. "It was not like that," she repeated. "I did not ask Abby."

"She just volunteered that information?" Tony struggled to his feet. "I don't think so. I'm gonna go and lie down. Maybe when I wake up this will all be over and you can go back to whatever it is babysitting me is keeping you from." He started to hobble towards the bedroom door, crutches left abandoned by the couch.

"Tony, you had shut all of us out," Ziva retorted. "What else could she have done?"

"Leave me alone."

"And now?"

"Ditto."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	13. Thirteen  Part 1

Thanks once again for all the reviews, alerts and favouriting; I really am thrilled by how much folks are enjoying this story. The next three bits are actually all one scene, which rather ran away from me in the writing (all together, it's just about 5000 words long!), so rather than inflicting it in one go, I've split it down into more manageable bits. Part one is (obviously!) going up tonight. Part two should go up tomorrow with part three following on Thursday. (Unless I get the editing done sooner than I'm expecting - in which case, things will post faster!)

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice.

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Thirteen - Part 1

As the bedroom door slammed shut behind him, Ziva felt like smacking the back of her head. She should have known that he wouldn't react well to learning that Abby had revealed such a personal piece of history and she definitely should have known better than to try and poke into his past, but his casual remark about being either drunk or dead had so thrown her that the conversation had gone beyond her ability to control it before she had realised it.

"I feel like a donkey's butt," she muttered.

"You mean horse's ass."

For a second, Ziva thought she was hearing things - an echo from the day she'd arrived as Mossad Liaison. Looking up, however, she realised that Tony was standing in the bedroom doorway, having opened the door with significantly less violence than he'd closed it only a couple of moments earlier, and was now leaning heavily on the door frame.

"I know," she said softly.

"Abby was wrong, anyway."

Ziva frowned, not tracking the comment. "About what?"

"Cases with kids - especially cases like Billy Stephens - don't get to me because of what my father said, or did, when I was a kid. They get to me because they're the only innocent people out there. They're people who haven't had a chance for the world to screw 'em up and never will have. I hate that some petty, screwed up, barely functional, emotional cripple like me gets to see a new day when a kid who's still learning to freakin' walk has to have the life shaken out of them.

"Case I caught before I ran into Gibbs was a case like Billy Stephens' case. Worse. Billy's dad had a good excuse for what he did - I can have some sympathy for him; he didn't ask for PTSD and he sure as shit shouldn't have been left in charge of his kid. Case in Baltimore, guy who killed Linda Jones, he liked to touch little girls before he killed them. We found her body a week after she went missing. She'd only been dead an hour. Three years old." She watched him swallow heavily. "Worse even than that, because I'd interviewed him, right back at the start. And we believed him. Because he was a fucking priest. Always double check, right? He got dismissed as a suspect and Linda Jones paid for it." He swallowed again. "So now you know."

For a few moments there was silence as Ziva digested what she'd just been told. Initially, she had been utterly horrified that her partner could have made such a fundamental mistake, but as the first shock wore off, the obvious question sprang to mind. More to herself than to Tony, she murmured, "Gibbs would not have taken the chance if there was not-" She stopped as the equally obvious answer hit her. There was a massive part of the story missing. "It was not your decision to dismiss the priest."

The stunned expression on Tony's face told her she had hit her target.

"Someone else, higher up, took that decision. Didn't they?"

"Captain." The single word seemed to force itself out without consent.

Ziva nodded slowly as the pieces slotted together. "You blame yourself, but it is not your fault."

"I should have followed it all the same. I knew he was lying."

"You followed orders-"

"Nuremberg Defence, Ziva? Really?"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Tony, you were a young detective with a handful of years' experience, at best. Your captain was not a man you could have gone against."

"I'd fight Vance-"

"You are older and wiser." Ziva shrugged slightly. "And you know that Gibbs will back you up - especially over a case like this. So will I. So would McGee."

"Baltimore was different," Tony agreed.

Ziva nodded, her case proved. "It was not your fault."

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Tony remained, leaning, in the bedroom doorway, maintaining the distance between them; visibly unsure of how his revelation was going to affect a friendship that was still recovering.

Ziva sighed and recognised that the next move would be hers: "Why did you tell me this?"

"Because as bad as it is, I was being an ass - again."

"And I was poking a hornet's nest with a stick," said Ziva, with just the faintest of smiles. "We both know that the past is dangerous territory-"

"And I should know how to keep my mouth shut better. Kate, McGee - hell, even Abby - have never managed to get me to talk about where I'd be if I hadn't met Gibbs." An embryonic smirk crossed Tony's face at that. "You said last night that I can't sidetrack you. Guess it goes both ways." The smile faded before it could come to proper life. "I always figured you knew."

Placing her hand against her heart in what she hoped was the correct gesture, Ziva said, "Scouts' honour, I did not."

From the expression on Tony's face - which was now halfway between disbelief and amusement - Ziva suspected she'd messed up. That was confirmed a beat later: "I'm impressed. You managed to mash up two idioms in there. Hand on heart or Scout's honour," and he raised his right hand in a sort of salute. "Pick one."

"They mean the same?"

"More or less."

Ziva stored that away for later consideration. All she said was, "Then you know what I meant."

"I did." Tony finally pushed away from the doorpost and started the long hobble back to the couch. "Guessing there's a whole bunch of stuff I've spent five years assuming you knew. Weird part of that is I was actually kinda okay with that. Knowing it was part of your job. It was different to what you managed to pry out of McLoose-Lips."

Ziva smiled faintly as he eased down onto the couch. That was the second, much less oblique, mention of her repeated questioning of anyone and everyone during her early days with NCIS. "And now you know the reason why I tried to get information about you that way. I could read and understand McGee; I knew Gibbs. Ducky and Abby are straight forward. But you...for someone who talks as much as you do, you say remarkably little."

"You could have just asked me." There was no censure to the statement. It was said matter-of-factly and there was nothing in Tony's expression that suggested any emotion behind the words, yet Ziva could still sense a vague feeling of hurt.

"I know that, now," she replied. "There is much that I would do differently, if I could have my time again."

There was a brief moment of silence. Then: "What would you ask?"

Not for the first time, Ziva didn't immediately track the conversation. "When?"

"If you got a chance to do everything over, what would you ask me?"

Ziva felt the breath catch in her throat in surprise. "You are not speaking hypothetically, are you?"

That earned the ghost of a smile. "What would you ask?" he repeated.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	14. Thirteen Part 2

Thanks once again for all the reviews, alerts and favouriting; I really am thrilled by how much folks are enjoying this story. After yesterday's shorter bit, today's is a bit longer. It's also - for anyone interested - the first bit of this story I sketched out, way back last June!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for putting up with the number of times this section's been revised!

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly. Also, while not exactly spoilers, I am using some of the backstory I used in A Very Special Guardian Angel - you don't have to have read that story to have this chapter make sense, but if you have read it, you'll know which bits I've swiped!

Coming Back To Life

Thirteen - Part 2

Ziva allowed herself a few moments to consider his question. She suspected that perhaps only Gibbs had ever been granted this level of openness and she didn't want to squander it with stupid questions, but nor did she want to take so long to come up with something that he retracted the offer. She finally settled on the most obvious thing to ask: "I think I would start with: Why did you choose to become a police officer?"

Tony nodded in return. From his expression, seen in profile, it seemed as if this was a question he'd been expecting. "Bunch of reasons. Partly because I knew it would piss my father off in an even bigger way than pro sports would have done. Partly because of something that happened to a friend of mine in junior year of college - and I'll save you a question, she wasn't a girlfriend; Tina was way too smart for that. She was kinda like Kate in that way. 'Fact, only difference between them is that Tina wasn't a Catholic school girl." His voice faltered for a second. Whatever had happened to Tina was clearly not a topic he was happy to discuss. "But I wanted to be a cop before Tina; before the idea of pissing off my father, even. Cops were always the good guys. They smiled at little old ladies and caught bank robbers and that's what I wanted to be. A good guy."

It was an answer that both surprised her and made total sense. Knowing what she did of his father, she could certainly understand the desire to be a 'good guy' - a phrase that could certainly never be applied to Senior - but the fact that it had clearly been a long-held desire was surprising. She'd always had the impression law enforcement was a career Tony had fallen into when professional sport fell through.

Sensing that further questions about Tina would be rebuffed, Ziva continued: "I would also have to ask you how you reached Baltimore PD and why you seem to have worked in every department there."

That got a snort. "Not quite - Narcotics refused to take me and I thank Christ they never tried to push me into Child Protection. I also never walked a beat."

"They must be the only departments, then," said Ziva lightly.

"Yep." He turned to look at her. "How much do you know about Philadelphia? My time there, not the city."

Ziva smirked at the pre-emptive clarification. "I know enough to know why you might have wished to leave. Eight inches of steel to the thigh cannot have been pleasant - and I have seen the scars."

"Yeah." He snorted again. "You know the really good part? Thomas is probably getting up close for release, if he hasn't gotten paroled."

"Given what he did, I am surprised he received a sentence with parole as a possibility."

Tony's good shoulder hitched in a shrug and he looked away. "Only thing they could really convict on was the stabbing. Nobody died so..." He hissed out a long sigh. "While I was still in hospital and loopy on the good drugs, Captain Harris of Philly PD and Captain Donahue of Balto PD came to see me. Told me about a joint operation they were setting up between the two departments to try and crack a particular Mafia family who had their tentacles into the organised crime rackets of half the Eastern Seaboard. Main powerbase was Baltimore, but they had operations running everywhere from Georgia all the way up to the New York state line and they were looking to renew their operations in Philly after a series of pretty effective takedowns there."

"They wanted you to go undercover?"

"I had all the right attributes to do it. Right age, right background, right look- Hell, there were people in Peoria who figured I was mafia, because of the family background and the fact that I was supposed to be this rich silver-spoon kid playing at being a cop, you know?"

Ziva didn't, but judged it wiser to not say so.

"And you were right, I did want out of Philly in the worst way. Got it, too. Spent eighteen months undercover with the Macaluso family, under the name Antonio Cabrini, and managed to come out the other side mostly intact - which for being undercover with the Mafia's an achievement anyway. Just ask Fornell about that one."

"You also got your man," said Ziva softly.

"Yeah. Yeah, Michael Macaluso went down. So did most of his family. It was a good job, really. Good result." His tone suggested he didn't really believe it.

"But you still feel guilt for what you could not prevent while you were under," Ziva judged.

"It shouldn't still bother me, this far distant. It's not even like I had to do the things."

"What is the saying? All it takes for evil to flourish-"

"-is for good men do to nothing," Tony finished. "I know."

"You are a good man and you were forced to do nothing." Ziva shrugged. "I can see why it would still bother you."

"Didn't bother Philly or Balto, though. Both PDs gave me citations for bravery and accolades and awards and all that kinda crap and then neither of them knew what the hell to do with me. Think there must have been a coin toss or something to figure out who I even belonged to. Baltimore won, but they didn't have a desk open for a homicide detective. So first I got cold cases - mostly because there was a spare desk down there and I had a hand in plaster so I could hardly go out in the field. When the cast came off and I did my firearms requals, they still didn't have a homicide desk for me, but transit had a spot. Then it was robbery. Then Vice - didn't last long with them. All kinds of awkward when your new coworkers were the folks who'd been trying to bust you for running prostitutes six months earlier. Narcotics wouldn't take me for the same reason. They finally found me a spot in homicide and the first case I caught was the one Chip screwed up. Second one was Linda Jones. There were some good people in Baltimore, don't get me wrong, but the situations sucked and that's before you get into the cases."

Ziva nodded slowly. Small wonder Tony had been so convinced that staying in Baltimore would have proved ultimately detrimental to his health. Deciding to move on, she said, "I would also why you did not call while you were afloat?"

From the way his shoulders tensed, Ziva guessed this wasn't a question he'd been expecting, but then his good shoulder hitched again and he said, "I did. A couple of times. I can take a hint."

Ziva frowned. "Hint? What hint?"

Tony grimaced. "You never got them, did you?"

"Got what?"

"Three emails, two postcards." He sighed. "Figured you were still pissed at me-"

"I was never pissed at you," Ziva cut in, shaking her head.

"Yeah, you were." Tony's voice was soft. "You thought I should have ignored Jenny's orders, and I didn't, and she ended up dead. Your friend."

Ziva sighed. "I was angry that she was dead, yes. Mostly, though, I was angry at her. At the choices she made. At her efforts to play God."

"Mostly?"

And, of course, he would pick up on that word. "There were other people I was angry with. You were not one of them."

"Oh."

"As for your emails and postcards," Ziva continued, "no, I did not get them. Eli must have had someone cleaning my mail."

"Screening."

"What?"

He gave her an amused look. "You screen mail, not clean it."

She considered that for a moment. "An idiom that actually makes sense."

He looked away again. "Does happen."

There was another obvious question she could ask here, about why he'd never raised her non-replies before, but she could all too easily see why he hadn't. By that point, their friendship had been beginning to fracture and he presumably hadn't wanted to push his luck. She decided to move on. "Why did you, really, come to my apartment the night Michael...died?"

Again, his reaction suggested he was surprised, but he gamely answered, "Because he was setting you up. I wanted you to know that. I was off-grid because I didn't want it to become official. Not until I'd talked to you and you knew what was coming."

"I could have been in league with him."

"No way."

"I had given you no reason to believe I was innocent," she pointed out. "And plenty to think I might not have been."

"I knew you weren't."

"How?"

From side on, she saw him smirk. "You had an alibi for some of the internet log ons - you were up a tree in SecNav's backyard - and it was just too damn sloppy. If you'd really been in on it, we'd never have caught you."

Ziva mustered a faint smile. "You never for one moment believed I was in on it?"

"Never."

The unhesitating answer both warmed and humbled her. She knew that by that point she hadn't deserved such unconditional trust, but he'd given it to her anyway. Not for the first time, she wished her own actions in the subsequent aftermath had been something different. "There is one last question, I would ask," she said softly. "Why did you look for me? Why did you go to Somalia?"

* * *

To Be Continued...


	15. Thirteen  Part 3

Thanks once again for all the reviews, alerts and favouriting; I really am thrilled by how much folks are enjoying this story. Apologies for the slight delay in getting this last section of part 13 up; the rewrites proved to be a wee bit more extensive on this section than I was anticipating... There will be more, probably Sunday.

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for seriously helping me out when I'd re-written myself into a serious corner

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Thirteen - Part 3

There was a long moment of silence following the question, broken only by the muted sound of traffic and city life outside the apartment. Ziva wished she knew what was going through Tony's mind, but the little she could see of his expression was giving nothing away. Had he expected her to go here? Was he trying to find a way to gracefully - or otherwise - decline to answer? She wasn't sure what his reasons were for being reticent about Somalia, but she could understand the desire not to talk and if that was what he wanted, she'd let him off the hook, no further questions asked.

And yet it was still a question she very much wanted the answer to. McGee had told her Tony's public reasons and the reasons he'd given to Saleem. Both sets of reasons had a ring of truth to them, but Ziva suspected there was much more to it than either a righteous crusade or simple vengeance.

Tony eventually broke the silence, but to Ziva's surprise it wasn't the rebuff she'd been expecting. Instead, it was a question of his own: "What do you want to hear, Ziva?"

It wasn't a question that needed much consideration. "I want to know why you risked your life for a woman who had threatened to kill you the last time you saw her."

She saw him flinch at the reminder of their confrontation in Tel Aviv, but he said nothing immediate and, instead, the silence returned. Ziva allowed it to persist for a few moments, but then her own impatience got the better of her and she broke it with a softly uttered, "Tony?"

"Tel Aviv didn't matter."

"I pulled a gun on you!" Ziva objected. "How can it not matter?"

This time, it was a brief silence that met her question. One in which she could almost see Tony struggling for the words to answer. He finally came up with, "I don't know if this makes any sense outside my head, but it stopped mattering about five seconds after you stormed away. Ziva, you were pissed at me, with good reason, and I got that. I did." He grimaced. "I can't pretend I liked what happened, but it didn't matter."

Ziva nodded slowly. The explanation did make sense.

"I wanted to drag you onto the plane when I realised you weren't with Gibbs," he continued softly. "Maybe I should have."

"I would have hated you if you had."

"But you wouldn't have ended up in Saleem's hands. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have taken that." He sighed. "I nearly called you so many times the first couple of weeks after we got back, but I convinced myself that when you cooled off, you'd call."

"And I would have done. Perhaps not you - not then - but Abby or McGee. My father had other ideas."

It was Tony's turn to nod. "I know." He sighed again. "It doesn't change the fact that I spent the better part of a month ignoring my own rule and then another month not doing nearly enough to fix it. I stood on the sidelines when I knew, in my gut, that you were in trouble, and when we heard that the Damocles went down... Part of me couldn't buy that it was real. Part of me knew it was. And all I kept thinking was that it was my fault. That I should have done something sooner. That I should have said something different. Or done something. Or just-something. I don't know what." He swallowed. "I made the case to Vance that going to Somalia was the right thing to do, to get rid of a terrorist who was a risk to the security of this country. I told Saleem that I was there to avenge you."

"But what did you tell yourself?"

"That I'd let you down - screwed you over - and that there was only one way to fix that."

"Penance," Ziva whispered.

"You could call it that."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Ziva, the woman I love ended up on a suicide mission because I screwed up and shot the wrong guy. How is that not my fault?"

There were plenty of answers Ziva could give to that question, but none of them, it seemed, wanted to make an appearance in the conversation. Instead, her brain stuck on the opening phrase: the woman I love. He had really just said that?

From the expression on Tony's face, they weren't words he'd intended to say. "I'm sorry. That- I shouldn't- I mean, I know that you don't feel anything like that, for me...because, y'know, why would you? I mean, there's nothing about me that any woman would want for anything more than a good time, but it's there and I think maybe it always will be and...y'know as soon as this current mess is fixed I will be out of your hair and-"

Ziva did the only thing she could think of to get him to stop babbling: she slapped him across the back of his head.

There was another moment of silence. Then: "Hey!"

"You would not have shut up any other way," said Ziva.

He gave her a sour look and opened his mouth to say something further. Ziva cut him off with a sharp gesture of her hand.

"I do not wish to hear it," she said. "You are wrong."

"What?"

"You are wrong," Ziva repeated quietly. "I do not want you to leave. I do not want you to be 'out of my hair'. I am not doing this protection duty because I was ordered to."

It didn't seem to matter that she'd said all of those things before: he still looked stunned. "Why?"

She offered him a faint smile. "Because you are my friend and my partner and because I could not trust your safety to someone else."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	16. Fourteen

Thanks once again for all the reviews, alerts and favouriting; I really am thrilled by how much folks are enjoying this story. This part is finally a chance to pay-off a line from all the way back in part one and...well a few more things, too! More, probably, Wednesday.

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly. There's also quite a lot of (apparent) influence from 'False Witness' - which was entirely accidental (I wrote the original draft of this back in July - which is probably before the episode was even thought about!) but was too good to write out.

Coming Back To Life

Fourteen

There was something unspoken in those words. Just a little thing that Tony would never in a million years consider analysing, but he heard it all the same and it felt as if the world had finally settled back on its right axis after being out of kilter for far too long.

And yet: "You really want me around?" he asked doubtfully.

Ziva snorted, but her smile was a little stronger. "I really do."

"Even after- what I just said?"

"It is not as if it is an entirely new revelation," Ziva pointed out.

That forced a slightly unwilling smile to Tony's lips at the reminder. "Guess not." His smile faded into a grimace. "It's like Sliding Doors. This whole relationship's been just a series of missed chances. You were ready and I wasn't. Then I was and you weren't. Then this last year, it's been like we haven't even been reading the same book, never mind the same page ."

To his surprise, Ziva let out a sudden whoop. "That is what you said!"

Tony eyed her warily. "I said? When?"

"The first night you were in Bethesda," Ziva answered. "You said something about wanting to get back to being in the same book."

He cringed. "I knew I had to have said something beyond dumb while they had me strung out on painkillers."

"Less dumb, more frustrating." Ziva then tipped her head on one side. "I do not see what books have to do with our relationship, though. Unless you are talking about McGee's next novel."

Tony snorted. "I'm not." He sighed. "It's an idiom. To be on the same page as someone - means you agree with someone, you understand where they're coming from and you're right there with them."

"We have not been on the same page before," Ziva agreed.

"Right - but we were at least reading from the same book most of the time."

"And you feel we have not been in the last year?"

"You think we have been?" Tony slowly shook his head. "Zi, my head's a mess."

"Why?" There was no judgement in the question, just simple curiosity.

He rubbed his uninjured hand over his face. "Ziva, Somalia terrified the hell out of me."

"Saleem was brutal."

He shook his head. "Not that. Violence doesn't scare me and Saleem wasn't..." He stopped, aware he was veering onto dangerous ground. "My experience of Saleem wasn't yours." He rubbed his face again. "What scared me was who I turned into. When I heard that the Damocles had gone down with all hands... I stopped being me and started being Gibbs, and not in a good way. And I know, you and McGee think I turn into Gibbs any time I'm left in charge, but this..." He stopped again. "Zi, what part of walking into a terrorist camp unarmed and with no intention - no matter what the plan was - of walking out again sounds like something Anthony DiNozzo would do?"

Ziva blinked. "You really thought that you would die there?"

"Wanted to. Hell, expected to. That whole 'couldn't live' thing? Emphasis on the couldn't. Right up to the second Saleem pulled that sack off your head."

"I did not realise." She hesitated. "For the record, I am glad that you did not die."

Tony smiled briefly. "So'm I." He sighed again. "I've spent the last nine months trying to get back to being me, but I can't seem to get the act right."

"Maybe, then, it is time to stop acting and just simply be."

"Be who?"

"Anthony DiNozzo."

"I don't even know who that is anymore." He grimaced. "If I ever did."

"It is simple," Ziva answered softly. "You are the class clown who makes difficult investigations easy by reminding us how to laugh. You are the loyal St Bernard who will never leave behind someone who needs his help. You are the senior agent who has taught us much of how to do our jobs. You are the dedicated investigator who puts justice first and himself last. You are the friend who supports us and looks after us when we need it. That is who you are; that is who my Tony is." She hesitated a beat and then finished: "And that is why I love you."

For long moments, the words of her declaration hung on the air.

From the expression on Ziva's face, she hadn't intended to give the unspoken a voice any more than he had and it was the absolute last thing he'd expected from her. Especially given the fact that they'd both been tap dancing around the edge of this thing for years. Then again, what had he done only a handful of minutes earlier? From slipping back into balance, the world had now tilted in a whole new direction. Or maybe **this **was the right angle for the world and everything else had been variations on wrong.

For the first time, they really were both on the same page. They both knew how the other felt. There really was only one course of action. Ignoring the pain from his various injuries, Tony slowly leaned in towards Ziva. He saw her eyes widen in surprise and then he kissed her, gently, on the lips. For a moment, when she didn't react at all, he wondered if, despite what she'd said, he'd made the wrong move after all. Then she smiled into the kiss and started to return it and he knew this was most definitely right.

The kiss finally came to an end when breathing became an absolute necessity, but they broke apart only far enough that Tony could look her in the eyes. "We're really gonna give this a shot?"

"We really are."

"You really want to take a risk on a chump like me?"

"You are no chump and it is not much of a risk."

He opened his mouth to say something further, but the moment was irrevokably shattered by the piercing screech of the smoke alarm. For a second, they both stared at each other, stunned by the interruption. Then Ziva bolted up off the couch with a hasty, "We forgot about the sauce!" tossed over her shoulder.

Hampered by his knee, Tony remained where he was and chuckled. It was not exactly the world's most romantic beginning to a relationship - but it was one that was uniquely theirs. And perhaps the interruption had been a good thing; much longer and the chances were he would have probably said something stupid that would have screwed things up even before they'd really begun.

"Tony; I think you should come here," Ziva called, even as the shrill bleeping finally quit.

"If the sauce is burnt, it's burnt," Tony answered.

"It is not the sauce we need to worry about; it is the Reynosa operatives I can see in the parking lot who are the problem."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	17. Fifteen

Yes, I'm late again. In my defence, I have spent most of the last week alternately hacking up a lung and making sure that tissue manufacturers stay in business which has been about as much fun as it sounds. On the up side, however, between bouts of sneezing, I have managed to wrap this story up (barring some editing and a little more agonising over the ending), which means that (after this post) there will be two more and we will be done. More tomorrow.

Thanks again to everyone who's offered feedback, who's favourited, who's alerted and who's read and just silently enjoyed. I've had a serious blast writing this story and I'm extremely pleased that other folks have enjoyed it too!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly.

Coming Back To Life

Fifteen

Ziva took advantage of the inevitable delay in Tony's arrival into the kitchen to start cleaning up what should have been lasagne sauce and had, instead, turned into a charred and sticky mess adhering to the bottom of her pan. From her observations through the now open window, the two Reynosa agents in the parking lot hadn't moved. They were both leaning against the tail of a white pickup, not directly facing the building but standing at an attitude that would enable them to watch the entry without having to move more than a fraction.

"Are you sure they're Paloma's goons?" Tony asked, as he limped through the doorway.

"Of course I am sure," Ziva retorted, offering up one of her stronger glares.

Tony winced. "Sorry, Zi - I didn't mean- I just meant- Hell, I don't think I even know how much intel you have."

"Enough to be certain that they are who I said they were." She inclined her head towards the window. "They are by the truck. The one on the left is not one I have seen before but the one on the right was with Paloma when she visited Stillwater."

"That would make you pretty sure." Tony stopped just shy of the window and leaned on his crutches. "So what now?"

"They are watching the entrance. Perhaps making sure that we do not leave."

"Is there another way out?"

"There is an exit through this building's basement, but it requires you to climb a steep set of stairs."

Tony snorted. "Like that's gonna happen. What about fire exits?"

"All on the same side of the building as the main entrance," Ziva answered, grimacing. When she had picked the apartment, she had made a conscious decision not to concern herself about lines of escape - telling herself that normal American citizens didn't care where the exits were and therefore nor should she - but she now wished she had given it at least a small consideration. "We have no way of leaving without their notice."

"Then I guess we have to stay and fight," Tony replied.

"You are in no condition to do anything of the sort."

"Give me another choice."

Ziva wished she could. It was, she thought, absolutely typical. Just when everything seemed to be settling on a path to happiness, something had to come along and-

"Hey - I'm not going anywhere just yet," Tony cut in, his voice gentle now. "We've been in worse situations and we've gotten out of them-"

"Usually with you acquiring a selection of injuries along the way," Ziva muttered, cutting him off. "And while that has never been an acceptable outcome in my mind, it is even less acceptable now."

That earned one of his endearingly sheepish smiles. "For me, either. As far as I'm concerned, Paloma's already had her pound of flesh off this body. That doesn't mean I wanna see her try and go for a pound of your flesh, either."

"She would have to catch me, first," said Ziva flippantly, though the subtext of his statement was clear: he wouldn't accept any solution that put her in harm's way.

She finished scrubbing out the pan and set it on the sink drainer to dry. As she did so, she took a casual glance out of the window. One of the men - the one she didn't recognise - was now engaged in a cell conversation. The other man was feigning casual indifference, though the alert way in which he was scanning the lot put a lie to his posture. They were waiting for something - or someone.

"We should call Gibbs," said Tony.

"I am not sure that is a good idea," Ziva answered, turning away from the window and starting to make a fresh pot of coffee.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about this: this address is not an NCIS maintained safe-house. How did they find out about it?"

Tony frowned, clearly turning the question over and around in his mind. "Either they hacked into NCIS personnel files, or their bug at NCIS is better than anyone thought."

Ziva nodded slowly. "Either is a possibility. The Reynosa Cartel must have a significant knowledge of technology - how else have they been able to stay as far ahead of authorities?"

"Bribery," said Tony shortly, finally making a move to sit down. "Money does make the world go round."

"But you could not bribe everyone at NCIS, nor in a great many of the police departments up and down the Eastern Seaboard," Ziva pointed out. "Unless you are suggesting that most American police forces are corrupt."

Tony snorted. "But if Paloma had the kind of base you'd need to do the kind of hacking McGeek- Wait a second." He stopped short for a moment, then looked as if he wanted to headslap either himself or someone else. "I know exactly how they've done it. You remember Petty Officer Paulson and Mickey Stokes? They kept ahead of the game by bugging my voice recorder and stealing my laptop."

Ziva nodded slowly. "As far as I am aware, there has been no laptops stolen from NCIS this time," she pointed out.

"Maybe not, but, didn't McGee say that he had his cellphone confiscated when he was in Mexico? By Paloma and her posse?"

Ziva paled as she nodded. "But he said that it was only out of his possession for the ten minutes of the standoff."

"And that voice recorder was out of Abby's sight for...what. Five minutes? If that? Zi, it doesn't take someone long to switch out a battery or slip a battery cover off and add a little extra hardware. And with everything that was going on at the time, McGee wouldn't have seen it. Nobody would."

"If what you are saying is true," said Ziva, "why did Paloma not meet us at the door?"

"Maybe she had loose ends to tie up elsewhere. Don't forget, what tipped us to Reynosa activity up here was the marine-turned-bounty-hunter-turned-corpse we got a month or so ago. I'm betting that there's all kinds of loose ends that case left her with. And she's been trying to put the scare on Gibbs by going after his dad, Abby and Ducky. She probably thinks dealing with me is the appetiser before the main event of taking down Gibbs - and before she can do either, she's gotta deal with the canapés."

Ziva nodded again. It was a theory that definitely held together and fitted the facts as they had them.

"Tell me about Paloma's visit to Stillwater," said Tony.

Ziva regarded him for a moment. The expression on his face suggested he was plotting something, but at this point, she had no idea what it would be. "Paloma and three of her..." she hesitated for a moment, then went with the term he'd used, "goons went up to Stillwater. She went into Jackson's shop and threatened him; he refused to play along, so she left and the three goons shot up the front of the store."

Whatever Tony was plotting took a clear back seat as he digested her words. "How the hell did Jack survive that?" he demanded.

"I believe the phrase is 'like father, like son', yes?" Ziva smirked as the coffee finished percolating. "As soon as Paloma was through the door of the shop, he made his way out through the back door and hid in a storm cellar."

Tony nodded. "Now we know where Gibbs gets it from, huh?"

"I believe so."

"So Paloma threatened him alone?"

And now Ziva knew they were back to plotting. "Yes. What are you thinking?"

"That Paloma is arrogant enough to go for third time lucky and maybe we can use that to our advantage."

Ziva gave him a narrow eyed glare. "Explain."

"She confronted Jack on her own and she tried to charm cooperation out of me, on her own. So I'm thinkin' she'll probably try to finish the job on her own."

"But she has to know that you are not alone here," Ziva objected.

Tony smirked. "But what if she thinks I am? You said there was an exit on the other side of the building, right?"

And finally the plan began to make sense to Ziva. "You are thinking I can throw them off by leaving, then sneak back in."

"Well you are a ninja," Tony pointed out.

Ziva smirked at that. "True - but what of her help outside? If Paloma does come in alone, they will notice if she does not return."

"Which is why we need to call Gibbs. We take care of Paloma, he takes care of Pinky and Brain outside and everyone can get back to real life - and I don't know about you, but that real life thing is looking a whole lot better now than it did half an hour ago."

Ziva's smirk turned into a real smile. "I will make the call."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	18. Sixteen  Part 1

This is part one of the final instalment (it's another scene that ran away with me). Part two (the final part!) up tomorrow.

Thanks again to everyone who's offered feedback, who's favourited, who's alerted and who's read and just silently enjoyed. I've had a serious blast writing this story and I'm extremely pleased that other folks have enjoyed it too!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice

This is my shot at resolving the end of season 7, set about a day after the end of Rule 51, and it both is and isn't AU to Spider and the Fly. You can safely assume spoilers for everything up to and including Spider and the Fly. And for the curious, yes, I have actually been to Israel and been to all the places Ziva names!

Coming Back To Life

Sixteen - Part 1

Lying on the bed, with his eyes closed, waiting for Ziva to return, Tony had plenty of time to consider the sheer stupidity of the plan. And yet, Gibbs had gone along with it with a surprising lack of complaint. He wasn't entirely certain of what the older agent had said to Ziva as she'd relayed the idea, but given that Ziva hadn't needed to argue, he presumed that Gibbs had recognised the opportunity this situation was presenting. Gibbs having no particular arguments, however, wasn't quite the same thing as Gibbs thinking the plan was either sound or good, it just meant that the retired marine couldn't think of a better plan.

Not exactly a confidence building thought.

At that moment, he heard the distinctive sounds of a key in a lock. The odds were good it was Ziva returning, but he couldn't help but tensing because there was always a possibility that something had gone wrong and that this was Paloma. The front door opened to admit someone, then closed again. Then, a voice called out, "It is me."

Tony relaxed again. It was Ziva back again. He opened his eyes in time to see her push the bedroom door open. "Okay?" he asked.

"Everything is in motion," she replied, holding out a small box. "I saw Palmer outside-"

"Palmer?"

Ziva smirked. "He is more unobtrusive than anyone else, particularly when he is not dressed as the Autopsy Gremlin."

Tony considered that, then nodded. "And he gave you a box?"

"Earwigs," Ziva answered. "We are not going to be wired, but we will at least hear what is going on outside."

"Makes sense. Did Paloma's goons take notice of you heading out?"

"Yes, but we have guarded against them missing the significance; I placed a call to McGee that let slip you were asleep and drugged." She cracked open the earwig box and offered it so that he could take out one of the devices. "They will not be checking for a bug within his phone until after Paloma has been captured."

"No point in her getting suspicious that we're on to her," Tony mused, slipping the earwig into place. He immediately caught the sounds of Gibbs giving brisk orders to whoever he'd rounded up for this operation. Clearly things were still in the set up phase. With a practiced ease, he tuned those sounds out and turned his attention back to Ziva, who was taking up a seat on the edge of the bed. "So now we wait, huh?"

"Indeed," she agreed. Her expression suggested that this was not something she was comfortable with. "You realise that if Paloma so much as lays one finger on you, I will not be pleased."

The corner of Tony's mouth turned up. "She won't. I trust you."

Ziva nodded, but didn't look mollified.

Tony thought she'd probably be happier if she could have a gun to clean to while away the wait, but the nature of the plan called for her to be hidden and for the apartment to appear non-threatening, neither of which would be achieved by having a gun part-cleaned on the coffee table or the nightstand. He would have to find another way of distracting her. "Tell me something good about Israel," he said. "There must be good things there, right? I mean it's not all a land of Hadars and bombs."

She snorted. "Certainly not. It is a very beautiful country. I grew up in Tel Aviv, which is much like many modern cities, but only an hour's drive away and you are into open countryside of hills and olive groves. My uncle - Eli's brother - lives in the Gallilee region-"

"Like, as in the Bible?" Even as he said it, Tony realised it was a stupid statement.

Ziva chuckled. "You have read the Bible?"

Ruefully, he smiled and admitted, "Very lapsed Catholic. I swear, I still know half the psalms I was made to learn for screwing around in Sunday School."

"That surprises me far less. And yes, as in the Bible. It is lush and green there. The lake is ringed by woods and small towns and it is beautiful and calm there. By contrast, the south is much harsher. It is there that the Dead Sea lies and where the fortress of Masada is - have you heard of it?"

"Dead Sea, yes. Fortress no."

"It is a fortress that was destroyed in Roman times - it was held by a group of Jews, the Zealots, who chose to commit suicide rather than submit to the rule of Rome," she explained. "It is at the top of a mountain and almost impregnable. You reach it today by cable car; back then, there was a single path that could be guarded by those in the fortress - so the Romans began to build a ramp up from the desert floor."

"Guess the Romans get points for persistence."

"That is one way to look at it." From Ziva's tone, Tony judged it was not quite how she saw the matter, but before he could apologise, she had moved on. "Then there is Jerusalem. Parts of the city are more modern, but much of it is old. It is filled with places of worship and twisting narrow lanes. It is a place where you may lose yourself for hours. There are also memorials there. There is the Western Wall - all that survives of the Second Temple - and there is the Holocaust Museum."

"You've been?"

"Under Eli's direction, every Mossad Officer was expected to visit the latter, so that we would know exactly what we were fighting to prevent," Ziva answered. "I chose to visit the former while I was there. Eli was...amused."

Somehow that all fit with the picture Tony had built up of who and what Eli David was. "Maybe, someday, you can show me your Israel."

Ziva's smile was soft, almost shy. "I would like that."

Over the earwig, Tony heard Gibbs announce, "Paloma's just showed up." From the way Ziva's expression switched up from nostalgic to businesslike, she'd heard it too.

"Won't be long," he commented. "Guess you'd better get into position."

Ziva nodded once and vacated her seat to take up a position just inside the en-suite bathroom door where she would be out of sight of the room at large but would have a clear view of everything going on. As she did so, Tony settled back on the bed in an attitude that suggested sleep and closed his eyes. It was back to waiting and playing possum and hoping like hell that Paloma really did fall for it.

"She's goin' in," Gibbs reported a beat or two later. "On her own. Can't tell at this distance if she's armed or not. Her two friends outside seem to be sticking around but not making any moves."

Tony willed his shoulders to relax, even as he caught the faintest sounds of a lockpick being employed on the apartment door. This was it. He heard the lock click and the door open. A moment later and he heard the sharp sounds of Paloma's boots against the hardwood floor. From the way she was walking she was obviously fairly certain that not only was he alone, he was drugged to the eyeballs. He had to fight to prevent a smirk breaking out at that. There was still plenty of opportunity for this plan to go wrong.

He heard her move around the apartment, investigating first the living room and then the kitchen, and judged that she was checking that there really wasn't another person present in the apartment. Only then did he hear her make her way towards the bedroom door. Now he fought the urge to hold his breath and, instead, tried to breath naturally. If Paloma was any kind of observer, she'd see through this ruse in an instant if he didn't, but it was harder and harder to do as he heard her boot heals click closer and closer.

Over the earwig, he heard Gibbs give the order to take the two men in the parking lot. That just left Paloma. From where she'd now come to a halt, Tony estimated that she was roughly level with his head and looming over him in a fashion that she probably considered was intimidating.

"You killed my brother," she hissed. "For that, you die."

There was no power on earth that could prevent Tony's mouth from twitching at such a cliched line. "I'm not the six fingered man, and you aren't Inigo Montoya," he answered, his eyes snapping open. Paloma was precisely where he'd thought - and was now wearing a suitably shocked expression. Best of all, however, was the silent presence behind the cartel leader: Ziva was equally in position. "And you really should consider looking behind you."

Paloma opened her mouth to object, but all that came out was a soft gasp as Ziva dropped her with one carefully placed blow to the back of her head. Despite himself, Tony couldn't help but wince.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now," said Ziva, crouching down and cuffing the insensate cartel leader, "we call Gibbs for a little..." she hesitated. "Garbage collection, yes?"

"Definitely garbage," Tony agreed.

A frown now crossed Ziva's face as she pulled out her cellphone. "Who is Inigo Montoya?"

Tony stared at her for a second. "I cannot believe you don't- Okay. First thing we do when I can actually go home: I'm gonna show you The Princess Bride."

Ziva smirked. "I believe the phrase is 'as you wish', yes?"

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then muttered, "You are an evil, evil woman, David."

"You are only just noticing this?" Her smirk got wider. "You are not much of an investigator."

"I will get you back for this."

"I shall look forward to it."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	19. Sixteen  Part 2

This is it. Last part. More after!

Disclaimer: Out of this story, all I own is the plot. The rest is borrowed from Bellisario et al with no offence intended and no (well, very little!) harm done. The Pink Floyd lyrics quoted at the end belong to David Gilmore and Pink Floyd.

No beta readers were harmed in the production of this story - but thanks to V for the help and advice

Coming Back To Life

Sixteen - Part 2

It took Gibbs perhaps five minutes to reach the apartment and significantly less than that to arrange proper collection for Paloma, who was already beginning to come round. Tony couldn't say he was sorry to see the woman taken away. When everything was strung together, she'd been causing trouble for more than a month and it was definitely past time for that to be done. He didn't know who would be trying her, under which jurisdiction or for what crimes, and he wasn't sure he cared all that much; just knowing that she was caught and that the last of her men were either already caught or would be swept up very shortly was good enough for him.

Unfortunately, once she'd been taken care of, the next event was a rather tedious debrief over the debacle in Mexico, which was done from the comfort of Ziva's couch, which did at least allow him the dignity of being more or less upright, though it didn't allow him the chance to escape Gibbs' all-knowing glare. The fact that Gibbs was doing it there and then suggested to Tony that his suspicions about Vance being pissed at him were dead on, which didn't bode well for his eventual return to active duty. The last time Vance had been this pissed at him, he'd found himself Agent Afloat - although being tasked with babysitting the guys from the Japan office did run a pretty close second. Come to think of it, being thrown to the wolves in Israel wasn't exactly a distant third place, either. Yep; Vance had some interesting ways of getting even.

Through it all, Ziva sat on the couch beside him, her expression betraying little of what she was thinking, although Tony would almost swear that she cringed a couple of times, when he reached the parts that had involved him getting hurt. It was only as he wound down - when his story meshed with the story that Franks had long since told - that Ziva finally spoke: "You realise that I am not permitting this to happen again?"

"Didn't you once tell me that orders are orders?"

"I will convince Vance that you should not work alone," said Ziva with a firmness that heavily implied a threat. "Much better a two-person team because then you have eyes behind you as well as in front."

"I don't think Vance likes me enough to be that bothered."

"He will be convinced." That tone left no room for argument.

It was also more than enough to send Gibbs' eyebrows racing for his hairline.

"Do I need to remind you two about rule twelve?" he asked.

Ziva snorted and shook her head, saying nothing.

Tony hitched his good shoulder in a shrug. At the back of his mind, he thought he ought to be terrified at facing off with Gibbs over the subject of rule twelve, but he wasn't, because this wasn't some casual fling. "Haven't broken it, Boss. Rule twelve says dating. We're not. This is... This is long haul." And though they hadn't actually talked about it, there was something emphatically right in that statement. A sidelong glance at Ziva told him she wasn't disagreeing.

Gibbs scowled. "You auditioning for JAG?"

"Comparing me to a lawyer, Boss? Now that hurts."

All at once, the tension left Gibbs' shoulders and he suddenly looked years older as he scrubbed a hand down over his face. "Hell, DiNozzo, I've been expecting this from the first time you corrected her English. Either this, or I was gonna find you in little pieces."

"You still might," said Ziva, with a smirk.

Tony made a half-hearted effort to look offended by her comments.

Gibbs shook his head. "No special favours, no grabass on company time, no using the rest of the team as marriage guidance."

Tony blinked. This was unexpected. "You're not gonna split us up?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" Ziva asked and she sounded about as surprised as Tony felt.

"Because I've seen what happens when you get split up by other people." Gibbs shrugged, as if that was explanation enough, and started for the door. "Just don't make me regret it. Oh, and DiNozzo?" He paused in the doorway. "Brad's told me exactly how long you're supposed to be away from work, so don't even think about setting foot inside NCIS before that time is up."

"That will not be a problem this time, Gibbs," Ziva answered. "I will make certain of it."

At that, Gibbs cracked a faint smile. "I don't doubt that." And then he was gone, leaving them alone again.

There was a brief moment of silence, then Tony offered, "That went well."

"It did."

"You wondering if we're just having a collective hallucination?"

"Wondering if we should have checked for a little red x." Ziva paused. "That is the right reference, yes?"

"One of 'em." Tony grinned. "Have you even seen that movie?"

"No - but you have talked about it many times."

"Guess I have." He blew out a gentle sigh and turned to face Ziva. "Guess the real question is: what now?"

* * *

_Lost in thought and lost in time_

_While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted_

_Outside the rain fell dark and slow_

_While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime_

_I took a heavenly ride through our silence_

_I knew the moment had arrived_

_For killing the past and coming back to life_

Pink Floyd - Coming Back To Life

* * *

Author's End Notes

Firstly, let me say a massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, alerted or just read and enjoyed. I've had a blast writing this and I'm extremely pleased that other folks have enjoyed it along the way.

As you might imagine, this is not the end of the story. Far from it! This is going to continue in the next story, Learning to Live, which will be landing in probably a month or so's time and will feature a lot more romance and action and, heck, even a case, so I hope that it'll be worth the wait. Between now and then, I will be posting a couple of short stories in this particular universe, working on finishing of A Kind of Magic AND (hopefully!) completing a degree (which is personally very exciting, but also not a little bit terrifying), so it's not exactly going to be a quiet month!

Until then, here's a little snippet from Learning to Live - from the opening chapter. Happy reading!

* * *

"You should know better than to bet against Abby," said Ziva severely. "She is like Ducky: only backs certainties."

"And this particular certainty would be?" Tony enquired as McGee pulled out a twenty.

"He said you wouldn't admit anything still hurt and you wouldn't be wearing your sling - which, just by the way, Brad told Ducky and Gibbs about, which means we all know about it, so no trying to pull the wool over our eyes, buster."

"I remember my mother being shorter and with fewer tattoos," Tony muttered, rolling his eyes heavenwards. "Should I ask who won the pool on when I'd be back in the office?"

"Ducky." Abby tucked McGee's twenty into her pocket. "Which I think's cheating, but- Wait, you knew there was a pool?"

Tony just looked at her. "This is NCIS, There are some folks here who'd bet on raindrops rolling down a window."

"Speaking from personal experience, DiNozzo?" Gibbs enquired as he breezed into the bull pen.

"I won that ten fair and square," Tony answered with as much dignity as he could muster as he finally sat down behind his desk.

Gibbs just smirked and dropped the armful of files he'd been carrying on Tony's desk before carrying on towards his own desk.

With a sinking sensation, Tony took a look at the file on the top of the stack. The name Lieutenant James Korby confirmed his worst fears. "SWOT analysis? Boss, couldn't you at least have let me have five minutes to pretend this week isn't going to suck?" At Gibbs' look, Tony grimaced and grabbed Korby's file. "Right. Of course not."

He sighed.

It was going to be a very long week.


End file.
